CASH MONEY AND OTHER STORIES

by

Sheryl Miller

A Thesis Submitted to the Faculty of

The Dorothy F. Schmidt College of Arts and Letters in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of

Master of Fine Arts

Florida Atlantic University

Boca Raton, Florida

April2004 CASH MONEY AND OTHER STORIES

by Sheryl Miller

This thesis was prepared under the direction of the candidate's thesis advisor, Dr. Jason Schwartz, Department of English, and has been approved by the members of her supervisory committee. It was submitted to the faculty of The Dorothy F. Schmidt College of Art and Letters and was accepted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts.

11 ABSTRACT

Author: Sheryl Miller

Title: Cash Money and Other Stories

Institution: Florida Atlantic University

Thesis Advisor: Dr. Jason Schwartz

Degree: Master of Fine Arts

Year: 2004

The short story cycle unifies autonomous stories to create a larger narrative. In a similar manner, a type of money group called Sous Sous, also known as a Hand, Box,

Meeting, or Partner, unifies individuals in a communal endeavor that gives a larger purpose to the venture of saving. The stories in this collection comprise a short story cycle that is unified, in part, by its explication of Sous Sous, which is common in black communities in America and the Caribbean and believed to have origins in

African culture. They share common characters and are also linked by a focus on money, materialism, or spirituality. Sequentially placed, most of the stories build on each other, creating a composite narrative.

111 Contents

Appeal ...... 1

Sure Thing ...... 11

Cheap Grace ...... 24

For a Number to Play ...... 51

Slave Wages ...... 65

Maxed Out ...... 80

Cash Money ...... 101

Breadwinner...... 110

Love for Sale ...... 123

Home Economics ...... 143

Extension ...... 169

Shopaholic ...... 185

Waterfront Property ...... 209

What You Owe Me ...... 225

Paid in Full ...... 252

lV Appeal

I had told the story I love to tell. It was time to get down to business.

"Now I know at least one of you is going to leave here today without fulfilling

your commitment to the Lord," I said. "All this Christmas shopping and party going

has a way of making us forget the reason for the season." I wiped my damp face with

my handkerchief and took a sip of water. Brother Griffin struck a chord on the organ.

Nature lent her fine hand with a crack of thunder and a flash of white light.

"Christ was born to redeem our sins. He died to redeem our sins. We are a

redeemed people because God sent the little Christ child to save our souls."

"Yes Lord," a woman shouted. It sounded like Sister Ruth.

"To save our souls because he knew, I said, He knew we were going to keep

falling short ... "

"Preach on, Pastor Brown."

"We are falling short in this congregation," I said, glancing around the

sanctuary. I spotted Margaret at her usual pew seven rows down the center aisle.

Wish I could say my wife stood out because of her power red suit, but the fact was a

lot of seats were empty this morning. Less than five hundred people-I had done a

quick head count during the processional-in a room designed to accommodate twice

as many. Ten years ago, when I accepted the call to lead this congregation, Margaret

and I had relocated to Fort Lauderdale, Florida from Silver Spring, Maryland, our

hometown. I promised her then that once things were on target here I would consider

1 seeking a call back up north. Our membership had since grown to over a thousand.

But attendance was inconsistent and stewardship had been so poor over the last two

years that we still hadn't completed the renovations needed to bring this facility­

building used to be a Pantry Pride supermarket-into the twenty-first century.

Margaret and I had long since given up the idea of leaving this area-we liked the

weather too much-but that didn't mean I'd given up the idea of ennobling this

church.

"!said we are falling short in this congregation," I repeated. Sister Brenda

shifted in her seat. As a council member, she was one of the people who helped run

this ministry. Woman made good money as some kind of Web wizard, but did she

tithe?

"Look around you and think about it, my brothers and sisters." I glanced

towards the window and Sister Reina in the second row followed my eyes like she

knew what I was looking for. "Outside, right in our parking lot, are just some of the

examples of the prosperity the Lord hath brought. From right here, I can see a

Mercedes, an Expedition, three Accords and two Camrys." I could see my Cadillac, too, but I saw no need to mention that.

"No hoopties in this congregation." I paused for the laughter I knew would

come. But I wasn't amused that these people could afford the car of their choice, but weren't donating enough to cover my salary. Under the circumstances, how was I

supposed to keep up my own tithe?

2 "That's right. No hoopties in this congregation. We're talking about the bling

bling." Behind me, Associate Pastor Greene coughed. The man doesn't always

approve of my tactics, but I'm the one in charge up in here.

There was more laughter. In the front row, Sister Frances smiled showing

more gum than I cared to see this close to supper. Gregory, her husband, looked

asleep. Brother was blessed with a fine job at a firm he owned, made enough money

to afford the same Armani suits I did, and had a beautiful daughter. He needed to wakeup.

"That's right. We're talking about the bling bling up in here. But it's all good, right? As the young people say.

"Well, my brothers and sisters, this is the newsflash: It is not all good. People are in need at the Bedford Shelter on the other side of the railroad tracks. People are in need right here in this community where jobs have been scarce as tithing parishioners." Hadn't meant to say that last part; must have been the Lord speaking through me. "People are in need right here in this church where we have youth who don't have enough to eat, seniors who can't afford their medication. And so on.

"Our facilities need improvement, too. I admit I'd like to see some new carpet on this floor." I glanced down the middle aisle of the sanctuary where the faded green carpet was most threadbare. The big bronze plaque that had been designed to commemorate my 20th year in the ministry was also in my line of sight, but I looked away.

3 "Where will the money come from if we don't live up to what we have pledged?" I paused to let them think about that. In that minute of silence I let thoughts about my own pledge dangle in the universe.

"Christ was born to redeem our sins and we honor that by shopping at Macy's instead of giving Him what is His. Now, tell me I'm wrong."

Sister Sally looked guilty as charged.

"Oh, I know many of you are headed there after you leave here. And if you feel so moved to shop after evening service, Margaret tells me they are open till midnight." I didn't let on they'd probably run into her there.

"Well," she blurted. Then, more laughter, but this time I interrupted it with my final point:

"The bling bling is keeping you from the life you could have. The bling bling is stealing what should go to do the Lord's work. We buy Versace and Hilnigger, excuse me, Hilfiger"-Lord must be speaking through me again-"while we fall short of what we need to give to God. What I call the three T's: Our time. Our talents.

Our treasures." I made sure to lower my baritone for effect. Brother Griffin heard the drop in my voice and began the chords to "Sinner Don't Let This Harvest Pass," just as we'd prearranged. Sister Hyacinth hummed the tune. Between the choir, serving on the council and keeping up her tithes, she cheerfully gave of the three T's. Problem was the woman seemed to think this somehow exempted her from the rest of God's word.

4 "Now, I'm not trying to tell you what you need to do. The Lord speaks quite clearly on the matter in Malachi, as those of you who were at our last Bible study on stewardship might remember. What I am asking you to do ... "

The choir began singing softly. In their pauses I heard the rain falling.

"What I am asking you to do is to listen to the word He gave us and remember the reason for the season. Let us bow our heads in prayer:

"Almigh-ty God, we thank you for your holy word. We thank you for the gift of your son Jesus Christ our Lord and savior who was born and died on the cross at

Calvary so that we may live. We pray that we keep Him in our hearts this joyous season. Heavenly father, we know that we are falling short. The body is willing but the flesh is weak. Strengthen us, with your word and your holy spirit. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, we pray. Amen."

I looked up. Sister Sally was rummaging through her purse. Brother Gregory appeared to be writing a check. So did Sister Treva's husband, Walter. First time I'd seen him do that. Sister Gretchen fanned herself with cash I knew would soon fill the offering plate.

I said another Amen and hoped it would be enough. We were pacing over thirty thousand behind last year this time. And there were just two Sundays left this month in which to make it up.

"Will the ushers please come forward to receive the final offering?" I handed out the plates-brass instead of wicker for this collection. "And this time, give what you know you held back before." I looked over at Sister Jillian in the choir loft. At

5 the early service this morning she'd put a twenty in the offering plate with one hand and taken back a ten with the other. I trusted she got the message.

The choir stood and raised its voice in song. I sat on my soft bench next to

Pastor Greene as the ushers collected the offering. I could see the plates were already overflowing. It was, indeed all good, I thought, as I sipped more water. My appeal had worked.

But my words about falling short kept reverberating in my ears. "The bling bling is keeping you from the life you could have. The bling bling is stealing what should go to do the Lord's work." The whispery words were strong. I looked over at

Pastor Greene. The man's face was as brown and shiny as his three-piece suit.

"You hear that?"

"What?" he said. His brows were up, his voice reproachful.

"Never mind."

I was sure it hadn't been my imagination, but I stood to receive the offering as if nothing unusual had happened. As Brother Griffin played the opening chords to

"Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow," I felt an eerie inevitability to our singing of the words. Like everyone present had sung them before this very afternoon and time, while a storm brewed outdoors and I preached the same sermon. A dimwit would have called my feeling deja vu. But I was a man of God. I didn't believe in all that nonsense.

As I opened my mouth to sing, the thought hit me: Could it have been the

Lord Himself speaking to me? I remembered that stormy Sunday I'd preached my

6 very first sermon. I'd stumbled over the message I'd crafted, but He'd whispered in my ear that I could do all things through Him. As if to prove it, He had turned my glib words golden. Humph. He used to speak to me quite often back in those days I still believed this was all about Him and had nothing to do with the Benjamins.

Oh heaven help me, I thought. Of course, He knew that's how I thought now.

How had I come to be such a cynic? The question floated in front of me unanswered as the ushers held out the offering plates to me.

My hands shook as I accepted the collection and raised it before the cross.

After placing the plates at the altar, I opened my wallet and took out all the bills in its folds. It was probably more than what I owed on my tithe, but I put them all in one of the plates. Gave Him what was His. Right away, I felt better.

Just before I pulled my hand away, I remembered something. In all the fussing she got to when she found out she couldn't shop until after tonight's service, I'd forgotten to give Margaret the shopping money she asked me for. One thousand dollars. I had just put all of it into the collection plate my right hand still hovered over. Given it to Him.

Great googamooga, I thought. My back was still to the congregation. If I moved real fast, could I discreetly take back a few of the bills? I leaned forward a little and glanced over my shoulder. Out the comer of my eye I could see Sister Jill ian looking at me with those pebbly brown eyes ofhers.

The b/ing bling is keeping you from the life you could have. The bling bling is stealing what should go to do the Lord's work.

7 I withdrew my hand and turned towards the congregation. No one was

speaking or singing but the words seemed louder now. I foolishly covered an ear as I

took my seat next to Pastor Greene. He looked at me quizzically. Twenty years we'd

worked together, but I could never explain this to him. The man already thought I was

flashy and foolish. If he thought I was hearing voices, he might try to have me

removed.

Brother Griffin began playing the closing hymn: "He's Got the Whole World

in His Hand." I was singing along with the congregation, but my mind was more in

tune with the words still reverberating in my ears. I had more than made up my tithe,

given Him every dime in my pocket. Why hadn't they stopped? I knew the Lord

could not have been worried that anything was getting in the way of my serving Him.

Margaret and I worked hard for this church, but aside from the home we built out in

Lakes by the Sea, our cars and the clothes on our backs, we had precious little to

show for our efforts. In fact, if it weren't for my CPA business, we would have had to move on from this church a long time ago.

"He 's got you and me right in His hand He 's got everybody in His hand

He 's got the whole-" Suddenly the only singing I heard was my own. I tapered my voice to a hum. That's when I realized that but for the soft drizzle striking the windows the church was quiet. Not a chord cried from the organ. The congregation was waiting for me to dismiss them.

I was about to stand when a wave of weakness lapped at my legs. They felt limp as the canned string beans we served at the shelter last Thanksgiving. As I

8 braced my arm against the bench and tried to raise myself, I clearly heard my Father say, "Cut off from me you can do nothing, Malik."

A moment or two passed while I took it all in. Then His meaning came to me, clear as the little plastic cups we use to serve the communion wine. What I had given was just a small portion of what He had given to me ... given for me. Of course I already knew that. But somehow I'd lost sight of it in all my worries about what the congregation wasn't doing .... what they had not given. Feeling drenched with shame,

I bowed my head and said, "Lord, forgive me."

"Pastor Brown, the Benediction!" Pastor Greene said; his voice a stem whisper.

I finally got to my feet and stepped up to the pulpit.

"Before the dismissal, the Lord put something on my heart that I want to share with you." I took a sip of water and blotted the dampness from my face. Brother

Griffin struck a chord on the organ. Pastor Greene coughed like he had phlegm in his throat.

"The bling bling is trying to steal my life, too. But the master I serve is not having it. Accordingly, I will be making some changes. Yes, there will be some changes up in here." Lord was definitely speaking through me now; I hadn't known I was going to say that part until I heard the words fall from my mouth.

"Effective immediately, I will forgo my salary until we have caught up on our pledges and restored this house, His house, to some semblance of dignity," I said, surprised by my own words. My throat instantly felt dry.

9 "Have Mercy!" A woman shouted. It sounded like my wife.

"We must not fail, we must not falter, and we must have faith," I said and sipped the rest of my water in one long gulp. Then I charged the congregation to go in peace and do the Lord's work. It was still raining. But I could see the clouds ceding to the sun as the church joined me in saying, "Amen."

10 Sure Thing

The last time Penny saw Martin he made it clear she wasn't the kind of

woman he would ever marry. They'd been sharing a bowl of popcorn and watching

Love Jones when he told her. "What we have now is all we will ever have. I don't

know-maybe if we'd hooked up sooner." His obsidian eyes were thoughtful. "It's

not that you aren't attractive enough. But let's face it, Penny. You're over forty-not

really young enough to have children. And you still haven't established yourself

professionally." He paused and, using a fingernail, dislodged a kernel stuck between

his teeth, placing it on a napkin. "These are the things I require. What most men my

age are looking for, but won't ever admit," he added, and reached into the bowl for

more popcorn. His remarks had cut her to the bone. Not that she loved him, but she'd

been hurt by the idea he didn't think she was good enough. She, with her perfect size

four figure and the D-cup breasts Bart had paid for, was more woman than Martin

Hinton could handle on his best day. To her way of thinking, despite his money, and what some might call his boyish good looks, he was no catch either. And she'd said

as much by picking that moment to suggest that his bank account wasn't the only thing smaller than that of other men who hadn't been good enough for her. This had not been true. But she knew the idea he was inadequate in any way would get under his skin. And she had been right; he'd left her apartment before the movie credits rolled. In the two months since that October night they'd rarely spoken.

11 Yet she was waiting for him now. In a little black dress like her mother always said was perfect for any occasion. Tonight she would wear it to the ship along with spiky black sandals and enough Opium to intoxicate him. He liked its spiciness better than the natural essences she preferred, so she dabbed plenty between her breasts.

It was Martin who liked Opium, wasn't it? She panicked a moment as she tried to remember. Bart liked it, too, she recalled. But hadn't someone who liked its rich scent said it made his tongue itch? God, she hoped it wasn't Martin. The ship was supposed to leave the dock at eight p.m. He should have been here five minutes ago.

There was no time to shower it off.

She ran to the bathroom and blotted the perfume with a damp washcloth, careful not to get the silk wet. The doorbell rang a few minutes later. She glanced at herself in the mirror again and liked the way the dress's cap sleeves revealed the little heart tattoo on her shoulder. Satisfied that she looked spectacular, she answered the door.

"You look great," Martin said. He grabbed her waist and kissed her hard on the mouth, grazing the side of her neck as she moved away. "God, you even taste good. It's been too long, Penny. I've missed you."

"It's good to see you too, Martin," she said, the relief spreading through her like brandy. His black hair was buzz cut and it appeared he'd just shaved. He was dressed in one of his trademark dark suits, his Santa Claus tie the only evidence that they were going to a party and not a business meeting. It fit his lean frame perfectly.

12 "Let me get my shawl and I'll be ready to go," she said, but he was steering her towards the dining room.

"We have time for a drink." He got glasses and the bottle ofRemy out of the cabinet, poured the drinks and handed her one. They carried them to the living room and sat on the sofa. He put his tumbler down on the coffee table too quickly-she could hear the awkward pinging of glass touching glass-and kissed her again. She cupped her free hand around his neck. His slender fingers walked one by one up her dress and between her legs before she could put down her own drink. She made a little moaning sound.

"Good, you're wearing stockings," he said.

"Doesn't the boat leave at eight?"

"After we spoke, I decided to skip that party and go to the media one instead."

His hands were on her behind now; he nuzzled the space between her breasts.

"Why?" She had psyched herself for a night of ocean breezes and blackjack.

He looked up at her. "The thought of being out on that ship all night ... 1 have an early flight tomorrow. We wouldn't have had any time together." He nibbled on her ear like it was com.

"Oh," she said. "So where's this one at?"

"Out west." he said. "Next to the Sawgrass mall." His hands played in her curls.

"Martin, you know better than to touch my hair."

"Sorry."

13 "What time do we have to be there?" The mall area was just a few miles west of here, but she didn't want to miss dinner.

"No rush," he said. "It's buffet."

Penny had been careful with her clothing, even washed up a little afterwards, so there was no way anyone could have known what she'd been up to earlier, she assured herselfwhen she spotted Bart in the conference center's ballroom. She and

Martin had been at the party well over an hour and she was on her way back from the swanky rest room, where she'd checked her appearance in the beveled wall length mirror. She looked fine.

"Lucy, this is Penny," Bart said. "Honey, this is the girl at Bradley's firm that always gets me in to see him." Lucy gave an appraising look at Penny's almost invisible makeup and the conservative cut black dress that was, fortunately, wrinkle free. "It's so nice to meet you, Penny," she said warmly and extended her hand.

"A pleasure to meet you too, Lucy." Penny was shocked to find that Lucy didn't seem the bitchy shrew that Frances had said. She was also far from trailer trash. Almost resembled someone Penny would befriend if she'd been the type to socialize with white girls. Lucy had brown eyes and smooth, sincere features. Her streaked blond hair was wrapped in an elaborate twist; a few strands of dangled along the sides of her heart shaped face. Her little black dress was similar to Penny's but it was shorter and more expensive. Much more expensive.

14 "That dress is beautiful on you," Penny said. She was not being disingenuous

when she added, "I tried it on at Saks but it did absolutely nothing for me." Lucy's

face went pink with pleasure. Bart beamed at his wife.

Penny looked away and glanced around the ballroom. "Have either of you

seen Martin?"

"No, we haven't." Bart raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes curious. Lucy said,

"Nice meeting you," and excused herself to the powder room. As soon as his wife

was out of sight, Bart wrenched Penny's arm.

"He brought you here, didn't he?"

"What difference does it make?" She pulled her arm out ofBart's damp grasp

and examined it as if someone with her pecan complexion bruised easily.

"I want the truth." He was actually serious. The fool! There was no sense in

him expecting her to sit at home pining for him.

"He and I see each other from time to time." She eyed the crowd again, still

no sign of him.

"Like we do?''

"No, actually. He's still single."

"Like we do?" Bart repeated. His ebony face was cold.

"Is there a point to this?"

"I haven't talked to you since you needed the money for your ticket home.

Before that it was your transmission. You only call me when you want something."

"You should be happy that I still call you at all." She smiled cruelly at him.

15 "So did you want something?"

"What gave you that idea?"

"Your name was on my Caller ID at work yesterday," he said. Penny twisted the University ofMiami ring around her finger. She should have remembered that they had every optional phone service at his firm. Frances, notorious for her penchant for detail, had been the one who set up their account.

"Oh, right. I called to say hi."

"Why didn't you leave a message?"

"Didn't feel like it."

"What did you want?"

"I told you, to say hi. Wish you a happy holiday."

"I guess you haven't spent all of what I gave you the last time."

"Bart, this is not the time or place for this."

"Fine. When am I going to see you?"

"How about you call me," she said. A coppery skinned woman in a dazzling burgundy dress caught her attention. Even from this distance she recognized Frances.

She caught her eye and waved her over. After greeting her, Bart excused himself, much to Penny's relief

"Hey, girl, how are you?" Frances tapped her arm. "And why'd you run out after church yesterday?"

"Cause I was whipped. I was at a Christmas party Saturday night that went on way too long."

16 "With someone special?"

"No. Just Ronald."

"You see, there you go again, honey. Just because he works at Home Depot doesn't mean he isn't a good catch for you. From that beautiful tile work he did all over your house, I'd say he could start his own business. Just like Bart and Gregory did. He just needs a good woman behind him."

I'm not the one, she started to tell Frances. Ronald was nice but even if he was filthy rich she wouldn't have settled down with him. He drank too much and she always had to remind him to clean his fingernails before he came over. Since her place had been tiled, she had seen him only sporadically. She only went to the party because she liked the food at the restaurant where it was held. And it didn't hurt to stay on his good side. Who knew when tile would need repair?

"When the right one comes along, I'll know. As for the mister-right nows­ well, there's always something wrong with them." Drank too much, like Ronald.

Callous and critical, like Martin. Had a wife, like Bart, she thought.

"So who're you here with?"

"Martin."

"Hinton? From Dabney and Green?" Frances glanced at her quizzically as

Penny hemmed and hawed through what they both knew was a bogus explanation.

After the Love Jones episode, which Frances knew nothing about, Penny had said more than once she would slit her wrists before she'd go out with Martin again. The

17 truth was a woman couldn't live on such hasty pledges. Well, she could but the living

was harder.

And right now she needed new tires. The ones on her car were three years old; their treads worn and fragile as licorice strands. The mechanic had given her a quote yesterday, but she had driven home on them, slowly, and called Bart. When he didn't

answer, she had rung Martin for the first time since October's fallout. He'd said they

should get together tonight. She should have gotten the money before they left her

place.

"Gregory's here somewhere." Frances looked around. "There." She pointed to

a cocktail table across the room. "I think that's our rep at the station he's talking

with," she said. Penny spotted Gregory. Dressed in a brown suit, he was gesturing

with his hands towards a balding man wearing suspenders. She still didn't see Martin.

Frances was studying the fiery floral arrangements spiking the air. Their green

and red colors rivaled the holly and ivy greens hugging the walls.

"I wonder who did the decorations," she said.

"Whoever it was did a nice job. This is some gathering," Penny said.

"Top notch for a media party. The food's wonderful. Have you tried the endive crab?"

"Martin and I've done nothing but meet and greet since we got here." She'd wondered if he'd deliberately paraded her around the room like an ornament.

"Well, it's divine. The tenderloin's not bad either."

Penny laughed. "I'd better go find him."

18 She circled the room several times before spotting him. He was out on the patio standing next to a potted palm, a cigar in his mouth. For a moment she watched as he stood smoking and sipping from a glass in his hand. Earlier, he'd been sticking to Coca Cola to "be in condition for the drive home." She hoped he didn't expect to stay at her place. He'd already gotten all she was going to give him tonight, she thought as she opened the glass door and joined him.

"There you are," she said.

"It's been a long day." He puffed on the cigar again. "And you can't smoke inside." He flicked a bit of ash into the plant. "You eat yet?"

"I was looking for you. And I ran into Frances."

"Gregory here, too?"

"Yes. I'm going to go get something now. Want me to bring you anything?"

"I had a bite while you were in the rest room. Have seen all the people I needed to. I'm ready to go."

"I suppose I can eat at home." Penny chewed on her bottom lip.

"Get something here." He puffed the cigar again and a whiff of spicy smoke teased Penny's nostrils. "It was good of you to come with me on such short notice.

But would you mind taking a cab home?'' He took out his wallet and handed her two twenties.

"Well, no, but is something wrong? Are you okay?"

"Just tired. My flight tomorrow is at seven. And you're not so far from home that I thought you wouldn't mind."

19 "If it wasn't for my tires being so bald," she paused, hating having to remind him. "I would have driven."

"The tires. I almost forgot." He reached inside his jacket and took out a check.

"Gave you a little extra," he said as he handed it over. It was just two-hundred more than what she'd told him the tires would cost. There was a time she would have been surprised and grateful. Now she felt he owed her more. But she thanked him anyway and pecked his mouth, letting her lips linger a bit since she liked the taste of the cigar.

His hands cupped her rear and she pulled away before he started getting other ideas.

He nudged the small of her back. "You'd better get something to eat." She tucked the check and the twenties inside her clutch and they went inside the ballroom. They stopped and spoke with Gregory and then Martin left.

Now that he was gone, the party offered other possibilities. When was the last time she had been alone at a social event where she might meet someone new? But

Penny was hungry. She went over to one of the tables to grab a bite first. Trays of mini-pastries and multi-tiered cakes were being wheeled in, but there wasn't anything else in sight. She must have missed the food. She was checking the other tables when she noticed Bart and Lucy across the room. They were seated at a bench with

Gregory. Laughing at something he was saying. She spotted Frances helping herself to coffee at a nearby table. A brim full plate of pastries was beside her.

"You sure you're here with Martin?"

"He just left. He was outside smoking before."

"Yuck."

20 "I don't mind it, really. But ifl hadn't needed tires so bad I wouldn't have come here with him."

"Tires? Girl, I thought you stopped doing that kind of thing when you got saved," Frances whispered. "Please don't tell me you're backsliding. You were supposed to use your money from the Hand for your unexpected expenses. That's why I got you in."

Penny rolled her eyes. "lfl had to pay for everything I needed on my salary and savings alone I wouldn't be able to afford to tithe or do much of anything else.

The Lord should be happy I know how to use what He gave me. Either that, or send me a man that's worth keeping."

"He's sent you enough to choose from. You need to just stop being so picky and settle down." Frances handed the pastries to Penny and picked up her coffee cup and took a sip.

Penny looked over at Bart. He had taken off his jacket and it appeared he'd put on a few pounds. They looked good on him. Made him seem prosperous. She felt

Frances watching her, so she looked away.

"You really should have married him when you had the chance," Frances said.

"I met Lucy earlier. She seems nice enough."

"I suppose she is when she's trying real hard," Frances said. "But it's obvious

Bart still has feelings for you. Even Gregory thinks so."

"Then by all means send in the clowns." Penny held the plate away from her and mocked playing a violin. Frances shook her head in pity.

21 "And I know you still care about him."

Penny shrugged. She brought the plate closer and helped herself to a mini­ eclair. Popped the whole thing into her mouth. The richness of its custard filling disgusted her.

"I told you the business was going to take off. Just like it has," Frances said.

Her coppery skin glowed with pride.

Penny polished off the pastry "Like I had any way of knowing that," she said.

There was still a bit of pastry crust stuck to the roof of her mouth. She scrubbed at it with her tongue. "Not as ifl could see the future."

"That's why sometimes you just have to have a little faith," Frances said.

"It wasn't a question of faith, Frances. I wanted a sure thing." She finally dislodged the pastry crust and swallowed it. Her appetite was gone now. It was just as well. It was late. And it wrecked her metabolism when she ate late.

Frances reached for a mini key lime tart and took a tiny bite. "So where is

Mr. Sure Thing?" Frances knew that she didn't think of Martin that way anymore.

Nevertheless, it was cruel of her to mock the situation.

"He was tired. And he has an early flight tomorrow. I told him you and

Gregory would give me a ride home," she said.

"So he just left you here? I don't know, Penny. Even if he ever does ask you to marry him, you've already said you wouldn't have him. And he's never treated you right, anyway." She shook her head disapprovingly. "I just don't understand what you see in him."

22 An emergency fund, Penny thought, but of course she couldn't say it. She shrugged and looked over at Bart and Lucy again and felt absolutely sick to her stomach. But she popped a chocolate covered strawberry into her mouth and smiled as if she couldn't care less.

23 Cheap Grace

My decision to leave the Hand after a year was a no-brainer. The group was a kind of ujamma--cooperative economics-and I was no longer earning a living. So I stuck my resignation letter inside the Christmas card I sent Hyacinth and considered myself out. It should have been that simple.

"I won't ask why you stopped coming to church, my sister, but I would like to know why you want to leave the Hand," she said. We had run into each other in Toys

R Us a few days after I sent the note. I was picking up a few things for the toy drive

Trey does every year in his old neighborhood. As I walked through the crowded aisles, the custom perfume she wore kept tickling my airwaves-being a hairdresser sixteen years has made me hypersensitive to smells. I'd followed my nose and found her with a cart full of things for the church's toy drive.

"When I joined you said ifl wanted to get out after the year was up you would let me."

"Yes, I did say that. But what I meant ... Look, we're too far into this one now."

"Too far into this one what?"

"You joined in the middle of a cycle. And what I said was I would let you out after a year ifl could find someone to replace you."

That sounded vaguely familiar. "Well then find someone," I said.

24 "So many of the others are having hard times-the economy. It would be terrible if you were to leave right now, Cynthia. If you could just wait awhile ... "

Most of the women involved in the group attended Redeemed-the church I went to before Trey and I hooked up. I felt sorry if I was putting them in a bad position, but that couldn't be helped.

"Please don't try to talk me out of this."

"I especially count on you because you always pay on time, every time. The whole thing only works ifl can keep the ones like you involved along with those who have difficulty. Ujamma, my sister, remember?"

It occurred to me to just tell her that my cooperative economics were with

Trey now, but I didn't want to seem nasty.

"Just find someone to replace me so I can be out of this thing."

"Is everything okay, Cynthia? I have such a feeling that things aren't right with you." She fixed her cool green eyes on me.

"I'm fine," I said, but my voice sounded a little too loud even to me.

"You sure, my sister? There comes a time in our lives when we all go through." She reached over and rubbed just below the nape of my neck.

"Really, Hyacinth-"

She took my hand, closed her eyes and started praying. I found her grip was as tight as the cap on a bottle of dye. Against my intentions, I closed my eyes and ignored the fact that we were in the middle of the aisle surrounded by toy vehicles.

Along with the squealing kids, impatient parents and canned Christmas music, I heard

25 her ask the Lord to walk with me through my trials. "In the name of Jesus, Satan, I

order you to leave my sister alone; we serve a master who is stronger than you," she

said. Her grip tightened on me. "Heavenly father purify her soul. .. "

Her concern was as powerful as her cologne. I was choking on it.

"Amen," I creaked and blinked the wet from my eyes.

"Yes, yes. Amen." She opened her eyes and squeezed my hand before

releasing it. "It's going to be all right, my sister. Yes, it's going to be all right." She

walked away, stirring the air around me with that perfume. I coughed but could not

get it out of my lungs.

I hurriedly completed my shopping and went to a little spot Trey introduced

me to. The restaurant was a Mexican place with hand painted tiles in vivid blue and

yellow all over the walls. They had real unusual dishes like squash soup and turkey in

a sauce that had chocolate in it. I had never eaten food like that before I met him.

While the hostess showed me to a table, I asked for a gold margarita. Drinking

alcohol used to be something I rarely did, but Trey says having a cocktail before your

meal is good for the appetite.

I settled at the booth and tried to figure out why I had let Hyacinth get to me. I

knew that she needed twelve people pooling their savings every month to keep the

group going, but I knew she had dealt with someone wanting out of it early. That was

how she'd gotten me involved with the thing in the first place. Why was she trying to make me feel like it would fall apart without me?

26 The more I thought about it, I realized what bothered me more was that I felt unworthy to be prayed for. Especially when I had no intention of fixing what was wrong with me. I was in it with Trey for the long haul. Shacking up had been as absent from my life's plan as renting a booth at someone else's beauty salon for sixteen years. But decisions have a way of closing in on themselves sometimes until the only viable option left is what you say you will only do if. I had traded one last resort for another. Sure, that meant I was living in sin now-after eight long years of being a hom again virgin. But I accepted that. And it wasn't like I was trying to have it both ways. A lot of people will sashay up to the prayer line every Sunday sobbing,

"Lord forgive me! Save me Jesus!" and then emerge from the altar afterwards claiming to be washed in the blood of the Lamb and clean as a first frost. But once the service ends they know full well that they're going to slide right back into sin. Well, that wasn't me. Ifl chose to live in sin, then I wasn't going to go crying to the Lord to give me sanction.

I was mulling this over when my cell phone rang. Trey was calling to see ifl got the toys yet. When he found out where I was, he said he was nearby and would join me. A few minutes later he glided into the restaurant, his presence immediately reassuring me. The hostess leaped from her station to greet him. "So good to see you again, sefior." He pointed to my table, while she jiggled her breasts and wiggled her behind far more than necessary to grab a menu from under the counter.

He looked over at me and smiled and I fell in love all over again. Before I met him, it had never occurred to me that a man could be beautiful. His face looks as

27 carefully chiseled as a sculpture in a museum. He has high cheekbones, a strong nose, and full lips that are soft as white bread. His brown eyes are ordinary but framed by thick lashes a woman would kill to have.

The hostess sauntered ahead of him to my booth. She placed his menu opposite mine and sighed loudly when he walked past her and squeezed onto the bench seat next to me. He laughed friendly-like, then winked at me and tasted my margarita. "Good choice. You order yet?"

We agreed on what we'd eat and then he told me he needed me to do him a favor. Normally I would do anything for him, but even after a few sips of the drink I still hadn't rebounded from my encounter with Hyacinth.

"Could someone else do it?''

"I would never ask you to do anything anyone else could."

"I know, but-"

"It has to be done today." He reached inside his suit jacket and handed me a manila envelope. A color I had learned to hate.

"Go to the branch on Sunset Strip first," he said. He handed me another envelope. "This one goes to the one on Inverrary. National, not Federal, remember?"

"Right. I'll take care of it." I stuck the envelopes I knew were padded with cash into my purse. His white teeth beamed at me. Not knowing where the money came from, I had been uncomfortable about making these deposits since he asked me to start doing them last month.

I smiled back at him anyway.

28 When I got home from the bank, I was as jittery as if I'd spent the afternoon

being followed by store security at a swanky boutique. I put the receipts in Trey's in­

box, unloaded the toys and added them to the growing pile in our den. The room was

furnished with the sofa and loveseat from my old apartment: spongy yellow leather

that complemented the mahogany built-ins he had designed for his home theater. "I

built this house after my marriage broke up because I knew the right woman for me

was still out there," he had said when he asked me to move in with him. "There's no

reason for you to stand on your feet all day inhaling chemicals when you could be

making a life with me ... right here in this house." At the time we had only been seeing

each other six weeks but I had given my notice at Hair is Us and arranged for my

things to be moved the next day.

There had been a bill from the lawn service on the front door so I went out to

the patio and confirmed that the grass had been cut. Then I sat at the table for a

minute. The weather was still milder than any December day should be, even in South

Florida: eighty-two degrees with a slight wind. At first I was just going to look at the

pond with the colorful fish Trey stocks there. Listen to the butterfly chimes sing with

each passing breeze. The more I thought about it, though, a swim seemed like a better

idea. I changed and treaded the cool water a while, then stretched out on a lounger

and fell asleep.

I dreamt I was praying inK-mart. Even though I never shop there anymore, I

could see that fat red K everywhere. My hands were stained, as if I'd been dyeing hair without gloves, and I was on my knees, head bowed to the cool linoleum. A hick

29 lady's voice came over the PA system: "We need a clean up on ayle sebben," she

said. It was the aisle I was on, of course. An old white man wearing denim overalls

hobbled over and hosed me down with water like I was dry grass. I woke up

shivering.

Trey came home a short while later. I had put on a cover up to warm myself

He wanted Chinese for dinner so I called the restaurant he liked and ordered. While

he swam several laps, I set the table poolside. It had gotten cooler after sunset, so we

both changed clothes and sat sipping Evian while we waited for the food.

He asked if I had made the deposits. At first I just told him where I had put the

receipts. Then I decided it was high time to ask the question that had been troubling

me since I met him.

"You said before that you're into a lot of different stuff, but you've never told

me all of what you do."

"That's because ifl tell you I'll have to kill you." He chuckled.

"Trey, I'm serious."

"I am, too." His smile was half-formed. I shivered again like after the dream.

"Don't tell me then." I had paid off my bills when I got my money from the

Hand last month. But I had little else. Ifl were to find out something I didn't want to

know, I wasn't prepared to leave him. I sat fiddling with my utensils.

"I have several businesses. You know Spice is one ofthem." I nodded. Club

Spice was a dance club that was popular with the college crowd.

30 "Then there's Lip Gloss." That club was geared to an older crowd; some of my former co-workers used to hang out there. "I own part of that, too."

"See, now I didn't know that. Is there anything else?"

"Mainly, it's the clubs, but I also do special events, as you know." He'd been promoting a bid whist tournament the night I met him so I believed that. Why were my instincts telling me there was something else?

All that cash every week that always had to be deposited to different accounts.

How could I not be suspicious? I took a deep breath.

"Trey, are you into anything illegal?"

"Would you want to know ifl was?"

"Would you tell me?"

A frown hardened his mouth.

"All this time you thought I was doing something illegal and you're just asking?"

"Well, are you?"

''No. But-"

"But what?"

"Look, Cynthia, I'm sure that ninety-nine point nine nine percent of my business operations are straight. Legal as taxes."

"Then why do you need me to make those deposits?"

The telephone rang with the ring tone for the gate.

31 "Bet that's dinner." He grabbed the phone, pressed the key to open the gate and then patted my thigh and stood. "I'd better go pay for it."

We didn't talk once the food came because Trey is totally against discussing business while he's eating. I played along and changed the subject to the ski trip we were planning for the holidays. I've never been before, and he assured me I'd take to it just fine. We were finishing up when the phone rang. It was his friend Jeff. From

Trey's side of the conversation I could tell something was up right away. When he said, "how much," opened his wallet and started counting bills, I figured Jeff needed a loan.

Trey asked me to take a ride with him down to Jeff's job. "I do want to talk to you. But ifl don't bring him this money tonight-his car's due to be repossessed if he doesn't pay something tomorrow before noon."

I was tired but decided to go, hoping we would continue our conversation. I put a sweater on over my jeans and we headed out.

The place was in Hollywood, just off 441. Close enough to us that we never resumed our discussion. It was dark when we pulled up to the building and parked, but the marquee flashed the club's name in cold yellow light: "Ho Heaven." In smaller lettering below the name were the words, "Open daily at noon."

"This is where he works?"

Trey nodded. "It's nice inside, but if you don't feel comfortable you can stay in the car." I knew I'd be more relaxed reclined on the comfortable leather seat,

32 watching the "Brown Sugar'' DVD he'd put in before we left home, but I wondered if

I would feel safer.

"No, I'll come in with you." I told myself! was going in because he said the

place was nice, but I also wondered how many times he had been here. Did he still

come since he'd been with me? I knew that he was thirty-seven, had been married

once, no kids. That he did not believe in casual relationships-that was why we got

so serious, so quickly. But I did not know whether he frequented strip clubs.

Security waved us through the front entrance and I followed Trey to the next

set of doors. Beyond them, I could see Jeff in a comer near the bar. I told Trey to go

ahead and stood outside the doorway, just staring. The flashing lights, like a strobe version of a Christmas tree, made me forget where I was for a minute. Having only

seen a strip club in a movie, I imagined that there would be women straddling fire poles or lap dancing horny men. Green bills floating through the air like dust bunnies.

But I saw only one woman onstage--a girl, really. Dressed in a G-string, leopard printed, I think, she was gyrating against the floor in time to thumping music; the spotlight chasing her like a police vehicle in pursuit. I recognized the song as Donna

Summer's "Spring Affair." Several tables full of men looked on, while two busty waitresses dressed in black pants and white tank tops served drinks. Everyone had smiles on their faces like they were a studio audience on a game show set.

The girl slithered off the stage and was suddenly on her feet, flaunting her body in front ofthe men as if it didn't house a soul. I looked away and saw a

33 man coming from the direction of the men's room. He wore diamond-like studs in both ears and winked as he approached me. "Conservative turns me on, baby. I can already imagine what you look like without that red sweater. Maybe we can get-"

"Excuse me." I looked inside the room again. Trey and Jeff had disappeared. I could see the girl in a comer in front of a table of men. A man wearing a baseball cap had his fingers near her g-string.

"Aren't you working tonight?"

"I don't work here." It felt like all the strength had gone out of my legs, but I was going to try to run.

"My bad." He snorted, showing me an Indian com mouthful of gold and tan.

The man went inside the main room and I hurried out to Trey's car where I should have stayed in the first place. I am not a nervous woman, but the hairs on the back of my neck were bristling. Trey couldn't come out of that place fast enough for me.

Before he even got in the car, his phone rang. Something was wrong with the sound system at Spice. His audio guy was on vacation, so he had to go there himself.

The same thing had, unfortunately, happened just a few nights ago. He asked me to go with him, but the place was always full of rambunctious kids and I had already had enough excitement for one day. I asked him to take me home first. I took a warm bath and turned in early, figuring I'd wake up when he came to bed.

That night I dreamt about something that had already happened: Hyacinth's wedding a few years ago. It had taken place at the church and the whole congregation was invited. I went to use the little powder room off the choir area

34 because the main bathrooms were all occupied. When I opened the door she was standing in front of the mirror at the sink. A few orange blossoms were in her hair and she wore a cream satin gown with a lacy bodice. I went inside the stall.

"Should I wear them, or not?"

"What, the flowers?"

"You must have noticed my eyes." Her voice was edgy. "My contacts.

Should I wear them?"

"I don't see why you shouldn't." I wondered if Alfred didn't know her eyes weren't really green.

"When I got married before my eyes were brown, maybe their being green will bring me better luck this time."

"I think for good luck you would want blue," I said. I flushed the toilet but could hear her nervous laughter over the groans of the plumbing.

She had gotten married in the green contacts. But in the dream when I came out of the stall, she had on the grey dress I had worn to her wedding. Her eyes were blue. I looked at myself in the mirror. I was wearing a sleeveless satin gown like the one she had worn. But it was of a cream so dingy it looked like it had been washed in mud. Then I realized it was a leopard print.

"You cannot wear white because of Trey," she said. "The Lord has been watching you every step ofthe way. You must purify your soul and be washed clean of your sin."

"But we're getting married," I said.

35 "You don't even know who he is," she said.

I woke up. Trey was snoring next to me, his warm bulk reassuring. The television was still on and from its muted light I could see his chiseled features. "Who are you," I whispered. I know he could not have heard me. But he reached into the darkness and pulled me to him like an embrace. In the morning I was still curled in his arms.

"My businesses are all legal," he said. "I promise you, I am an honest man."

He rubbed my neck in the same spot Hyacinth had at Toys R Us. It felt sensual when he did it.

"What brought that on?"

"You were talking in your sleep just now. You said you don't know who I am."

The dream came back to me then. "You sure?"

"When I said 99.99 percent, what I meant was when you are dealing in the club business, no matter how carefully you manage, there's always that small possibility of error, you know?"

I nodded, but was still concerned. Those clubs were pretty large. Where had he gotten the money to buy into them? I was questioning things far later than I should have to be so deeply involved with him.

"Just so you know, when my father died he left me some money. That's how I bought my first club. From there everything just took off."

"Oh." It felt so good that he'd sensed my concerns.

36 "So is this settled?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Good. One more thing: never wonder who I am, Cynthia." His eyes seemed a little hurt. "I'm the man who loves you."

I gave him a long, wet kiss, and he went to get dressed. I should have felt more at ease. But I kept thinking about the dream. Wondering whether God was using

Hyacinth to send me some sort of message.

Over the next few days I could not get her off of my mind. I went to Trey's toy drive, and remembered she was organizing one for Redeemed. I thought about the K-mart dream and reminded myselfl'd probably had it because she'd prayed for me at Toys-R-Us. At odd moments, like when Trey was making love to me, I remembered how it felt when she touched my back and asked God to heal me. My grandmother used to say if you think about someone enough you can conjure them up. So I wasn't surprised when I ran into her at the dry cleaner a few days later.

"I know you've been scarce lately, but please tell me you're coming to

Christmas Eve service. I'm soloing."

"You know I've left Redeemed, Hyacinth."

"That doesn't mean you can't come back."

For a moment I actually considered it. But I knew it had to be a clean break.

"I don't want to. Can't."

She put her wallet away and took me aside.

"What on earth is going on with you, my sister?"

37 "Have you found someone to replace me yet?"

"What is it with this fiance of yours? This Trey? He seems to have some kind

ofhold on you."

"What's that supposed to mean?''

"You won't come to church, you want out of the Hand. And they told me at

the salon that you quit. You don't even call me any more. It's like you've given up

your life."

I tried not to look away from her. Before Trey all I had was my job at the

salon, the church and the Hand. It had not been nearly enough.

"Guess you don't want to discuss it. Well, then, I may as well tell you, I

haven't found anyone to replace you. The holidays are a bad time. You'll have to stay

in until April. By then-"

"April! When I joined you said that after a year I could get out of this thing just as long as I was paid up. Now you're saying I can't?"

"Being in a Hand is not compulsory, Cynthia. Of course you can get out ... just

as soon as I find someone to replace you-"

"See, that's where I get confused, Hyacinth. If it's not compulsory," my

tongue tripped on the word. "I should be able to get out whenever I want. Whether you find a replacement for me or not."

"You're right, my sister. Right now would just be impossible. I've told you.

The others-"

"You know, they aren't exactly my problem."

38 "We're going to have to talk more about this. Later, okay." She squeezed my hand. "We'll work something out."

"Hyacinth-"

"And I will keep you in prayer." She folded her dry cleaning over her arm and left. I sighed and got back in line to get Trey's clothes.

That night on television I saw a news report about a study they did at a university hospital. It found that people recovering from surgery that were prayed for recuperated faster than those who weren't. Whether they were believers or not. Trey was in bed with me when it came on.

"Are you crying, Cynthia?"

"No," I said. But my eyes were wet. I was thinking about Hyacinth praying for me. I still couldn't get her off of my mind. As long as she kept me in the Hand she seemed to have some kind of hold on me. Despite my saying to the contrary, I wanted to go to Christmas Eve service and hear her sing. I wanted her to keep praying for me, too. I wanted to pray myself But what was the use when I wasn't willing to change.

"I've told you all there is to know about my business," he said out the blue.

"And I know this is a lot for you, living together, since you were a church girl and all.

But when I asked you to move in with me you said you could hang."

"I know."

He took my hand, and glanced at the engagement ring he'd given me before I moved in.

39 "You realize that until my divorce comes through, there's no point in us even thinking about marriage. So ifthat's what's bothering you ... "

"No." I looked into those ordinary brown eyes of his, mesmerized by them all over again. I looked at the plasma TV across the room where the blond anchorwoman was interviewing a kidney transplant patient. When I looked at him again, I saw such gentle concern on his face. All I had ever prayed for in life was to find someone beautiful like him and have a nice house and not have to stand over sinks full of hair and chemicals. And I had all that now.

"Are you sure you're okay, Cyn?" He handed me some Kleenex. I blotted my eyes and nodded.

"I'm just getting my period," I said.

Saturday morning he handed me another manila envelope and said I needed to deposit it before the bank closed at noon. He had been at Spice the night before until the wee hours, checking out the equipment, and he immediately got back into bed. I was putting away the last of the laundry in the dresser. It occurred to me to ask him exactly where the money came from.

"Lots of people pay in cash to maintain their privacy," he said.

"Privacy? Why would they need to be private?"

He sat up and looked at me.

"Bad choice of words. But, look, I'm not going to lie to you anymore. When I said nightclubs ... there's another business I own where most of the cash comes from."

40 Dread instantly overwhelmed me. "It's something illegal, isn't it?"

"No it's perfectly legal. It's that place we went to meet Jeff the other night."

"Ho Heaven?" I looked hard at him. He held my stare, those thick lashes of his unblinking.

"That would be the one."

"But that's a strip club, Trey. Damn it, it's a strip club." I slammed the envelope against his leg. He put it down and pulled me next to him on the bed.

"I knew you weren't going to like this. That's why I didn't want to tell you.

But there's nothing illegal about it."

The manila envelope lay on the bed between us. I looked at it and hungered for the peace of mind I had known when I had only a small apartment, a rented workstation and the resolve to remain chaste even if it meant being alone. I had made a new life with a married man who I was not married to. My new goal was to be the wife of a pornographer.

"Trey, do we really need this money?"

"Define need."

"If you were to sell the club ... Just that one. 1-"

"That's not going to happen, babe. It's the most profitable of all my businesses. The money's just too good."

I nodded. Of course there had to be enough for me to stay home and take care of his errands. To pay the pool man, tip the take-out people, and have my facials and manicures now that I wasn't working at the salon. I realized, right then and there, that

41 I was earning my living just like those girls at the strip club. Sure marriage was on the horizon, but I would have been fooling myselfifl didn't see there was a price on my soul while I waited for Trey to redeem me. It was not exactly a deal with the devil, but it wasn't that far off

But the club is legal, I told myself. Nobody' s forcing those girls to work butt naked in that place. And Trey's not doing anything harmful like dealing drugs or counterfeiting money-both of which had been things I'd feared. He was making a good living legitimately. I felt a weird sense of satisfaction at the same time that I felt truly corrupt.

"If it came to choosing between me and that place, Trey-"

"Baby, please don't go there when I just told you it's my cash cow." His voice quivered as he took my hands in his and said, "I love you so much. And I want us to get married. There might come a time when I'd consider selling, like when we have kids, but not now."

It occurred to me that I had given up any say in our finances when I quit the salon. I was going to have to trust Trey to keep his word.

"All right," I said. "But if there's anything else you haven't told me."

"No, that was it. I'm sorry I just didn't come out and tell you from the beginning. 1..."

"What?"

"When we first met, I was afraid that I wouldn't have had a chance with you if you knew." He touched the side of my face. His fingers were sweaty. "I'm sorry."

42 "I know," I said. "But if we're going to be together, you're going to have to be

honest with me, Trey. I don't want any more secrets."

"I promise you, there are none. As a matter of fact," he picked up the

envelope, opened it and took out some of the money. "Take this and buy yourself

something nice for skiing." He put a wad of cash in my hands. "I'll get up in a little

bit and make this deposit myself. But you are going to have to get used to the bank

stuff, Cyn. You're the only one I can trust with cash money." He kissed my cheek and

put the envelope on the nightstand

"You could have trusted me with the truth, too," I said.

"Well, you know everything now." He rubbed that spot on my neck again.

"I thought I knew everything already. Worrying about how I would react was no excuse. You're not the only one who was afraid, Trey."

"What would you have to be afraid of?"

"Nothing," I said. "It doesn't matter now."

"Come on, Cynthia. Tell me." He tried rubbing the tension out of my neck again.

I didn't know how to tell him that once I'd given myself to him I'd feared there would be swift earthly punishment. I didn't know how to tell him I still feared for my soul should the rapture come before his divorce was final or he sold the club.

So I told him the part I could explain. "I didn't want to have to give you up. That's what I was afraid of. I didn't want you to be anything except what I thought you were because I didn't want to give you up."

43 "Whoa," he said. "I'm sorry I've disappointed you." He left my neck alone and looked over at me with hurt eyes.

"No, you haven't disappointed me, Trey." The money he'd given me was still in one of my hands. I traced his face with the fingers of the other and repeated, "Yau haven't disappointed me."

He folded his hands over mine and looked at me. "I can see we both made a mistake in not being completely open with each another. But all our cards are on the table now, right?" I nodded. "So we're good, then, right?" he said.

"We're good," I repeated, still holding on to the bills. They felt harmless as endpapers. It occurred to me that maybe the problem hadn't ever been the money or where it came from. He let go of my hands and I put the cash on the nightstand.

"I need to get some more sleep." He stretched across the bed and patted the place next to him. Come back to bed for a little bit."

I took my place at his side. We made the kind of quiet love that affirms forgiveness. Afterwards, we lay cuddling on the damp sheets. I felt content but still dissatisfied. I imagined myself packing my things and moving out. Getting my booth back at the salon. Another rented apartment. Another leased life. But I was too far gone to start over without him. Didn't have to the will or heart to. That is why I lay in his arms long after I heard his light snores.

The first thing I noticed when I got up was the money. I took the cash he'd given me and then reached for the envelope. No more sin in depositing it for him than living off of it, I decided. That was how I got through the day.

44 That night I slept awake: eyes closed, but my mind would not shut down. I thought of my future. I thought of my past. A shadow crept over my face. I opened my eyes and saw its blurred form in front of me, then only the blankness ofthe bedroom at night. Trey's eyes showed the blinking of deep sleep. I decided the

shadow had been my imagination. But my mouth was dry. I would get up to get a glass of water. My arms and legs attempted the normal motions to get out of bed, but my limbs were locked.

The shadow became a thing of substance hovering over me. A cruel and dark

shape. Holding me down like a free weight too heavy to lift. I slowed my breathing to

counteract the anxious beating of my heart. Concentrated and tried to move again.

"Dear Lord, help me. Help me," I finally said. Trey's breathing was even and slow.

"God is stronger than you, Satan," I added. "God is stronger." I could feel my limbs loosen, then. The shadow receded. "I belong to you, Lord," I said. My thirst had disappeared. But now that I could get up, I still wanted the water. I was so tired, though, my energy rinsed away like shampoo down a drain. I would get up in a minute.

Fingers of sunlight streaking my face woke me just after dawn. The first thing that came back to me was my paralysis last night. Since I could move just fine now, I told myself it had been a dream. A waking nightmare. I had almost convinced myself of this as I lay in bed still tired, yet unable to go back to sleep. But I kept remembering Trey's blinking eyes and steady breathing; how it felt when my limbs

45 were glued in place like fused hair; the thirst that disappeared when I talked back to the devil.

Trey was still asleep. Careful not to wake him, I slipped out of bed and dressed. I left a note that I'd be home in time for brunch and was behind the wheel of his Escalade before seven. I didn't pretend that I didn't know where I was headed.

But I went to Starbucks and had a latte and read the paper first.

Just before eight o'clock, I stepped into church. I sat midway up the sanctuary and glanced at the program. Unlike the later service, which I used to attend, this shorter one was geared to praise and worship. I saw Brother Griffin in his usual place at the organ, Hyacinth and a few others in the choir loft. But most of the people in attendance were old folks I did not know. I suspected they liked this service because

Pastor Greene conducted it. He was old school: slang never came out of his mouth, like it did from Pastor Brown's.

We sang for half an hour before Pastor Greene began to preach. With it being so close to Christmas I expected him to dwell on the miracle of Jesus' birth: God's gift of a virgin conception to ensure man's eternal life. But his message was about man's responsibility: the cost of God's grace. I was still trying to understand the penalty for accepting it without truly repenting when he moved from the pulpit to the center aisle and asked anyone with a heavy heart to come to the altar for prayer.

My feet were supporting my wobbly legs before I realized I had stood. I came from out of the pew and took the worn carpet down the aisle. It felt like I was walking the plank. When I got to the altar, I grabbed onto the wooden rail as much for support

46 to stand as support to kneel. My Gumby legs folded beneath me, I closed my eyes and

Pastor Greene began to speak.

"Heavenly father, we come to you as sinners, knowing you are the only way we can truly live," he said. I closed my eyes and listened. Something came over me.

Like the relief you feel when your fingernails find the exact location of an itch. The spirit was moving me past my darkness into a place of warmth and light. I was crying.

"I need you, Lord," I said. "I need you. Please forgive my sins."

A familiar fragrance startled me out of the space I was in. Hyacinth kneeled next to me and took my hand. "It's going to be all right," she whispered.

I looked up and past Pastor Greene's black pants leg. The big picture of Jesus with His brown skin and wooly hair stared at me. For the first time I noticed that his eyelashes were as thick and curly as Trey's. That's when I think it dawned on me that when the service ended, I was going home to him. Sure, I was forgiven but I had not really repented.

Pastor Greene got to the part of the call where he asked if anyone wanted to accept Christ as their savior. A minute or so passed; no one came forward. He looked down at me, eagerness making his face shine like Vaseline. The man knew I was already saved; he had baptized me eight years ago. I guess he was hoping for a reaffirmation of faith or something. But I had not ever experienced any crisis of faith.

On the contrary, what I had experienced was a crisis of sin. I could not completely tum away from it, but I couldn't live without the Lord in my life, either. The only

47 way I could see out of the quandary was to let the Lord keep working on me. That

wasn't going to happen ifi stayed away from His house.

I remained kneeling until Pastor Greene thanked the Lord for his mercy and

closed the call. Hyacinth went back up to the choir loft. I returned to my seat. Tried to

hang onto the grace that had been mine the instant I had felt forgiven. Pastor Greene

announced the offering and when the collection plate got to me I put some of the bills

Trey gave me into it and watched as the ushers carried it up to the altar. When Pastor

Greene raised it before the cross and blessed it, I held the rest of the money in my

hands and prayed along with him. Now that it had been purified by prayer, I felt a lot

better about spending it. Now that I had been forgiven, I felt a lot better period.

After the service, Hyacinth caught me before I could leave. "It's so good to

see you here this morning!" We hugged. I thought about the money in my purse and

gave it to her.

"This should cover me until April," I said. Now that I knew the source of

Trey's income I wanted out of the group more than ever, just not at anyone else's

expense.

"I don't understand."

"The Hand. You said you couldn't replace me until then."

"Oh, I did and I'm sorry. You helped me out last year and I should have honored your request. The bad timing isn't your fault." She handed the money back to me.

"So you found someone?"

48 "No, but-"

I pushed her hand away. "Hold onto it until then, so it doesn't cause a problem

for the others."

"You know I won't be able to give this back right away."

"There's no rush. But after this I am out for good. Okay?"

"Yes and thanks. I really appreciate your doing this, my sister. This is really

going to help. Now, please tell me you'll be back for Christmas Eve service."

"I'll be out of town. But I am coming back to church again after the New

Year," I said. "I just decided."

"Praise the Lord! I am so glad to hear that. So are you going to go visit your

family in Jersey over the holidays?"

"Trey and I are going skiing. Can you believe it?" I said and pictured myself

on the ski slopes with Trey with one foot in front of the other about to descend a long

stretch of snow. "I've never skied ... " My voice cracked as I realized that was how it

was always going to be for me now that I had decided on cheap grace. I would stand

at the threshold of everything with one foot anchored in forgiveness, the other always

poised to meet the next sin. It wasn't an ideal situation. In fact, it was just another one

of my choices of last resort. But I was good at settling for the only thing left to

choose. That's who I was. That's who I had always been.

"I'm sure you'll be fine," Hyacinth was saying. "In fact, I'll say a prayer for you. No broken bones."

49 I knew that I would be praying now, too. But I said, "Please do. And please keep me in prayer until I get back."

"You are always in my prayers, my sister. God told me to watch over you," she said and put the money in her purse. "I'm counting today, so I need to run.

Speaking of which, don't forget to pick up your offering envelopes for next year."

She pointed to the table by the door. "Merry Christmas." She hugged me again and then walked towards the church office.

A trail of citrus-like fragrance lingered behind her. I stood there a moment breathing it in and thinking about what she had said. Then I grabbed my box of envelopes and went home to Trey.

50 For a Number to Play

Ruth had never hesitated to take her grandmother's advice in the past, but this time was different. The thing was she had never done anything like it before and now was maybe not the best time to be trying new things. Not that there was ever a right

season to experiment with the occult.

This ain't the devil you 'II be dealing with, Ruthie.

It had sure sounded sacrilegious and Ruth truly feared God. But she feared the grip of poverty, too. And it had its greedy claws around what her boyfriend, Henry, lovingly called her chicken neck. It was choking all the air out of her like the stranger she always knew would come in the night, to do her harm when she was alone and thought she was safe in sleep.

Not everything that come to you in the dark is evil, honey.

She had called on the Lord the night before and He had said to be still. Let it alone and time would restore what should have been safe all along. But she could not accept that. It was bad enough that she owed so many people; she was also certain that she was going to lose the house and everything else she and her son Jeremy had.

And no one on earth could help them this time. Not Henry, who had lost so much in the market; he still hadn't gotten back on his feet. Or Aunt Alice up in Tallahassee, who, despite living on a fixed income, used to think nothing of taking a credit card advance--the same way the government would raise the deficit ceiling to pay for lower taxes. Didn't they call that Voodoo economics?

51 It ain 't voodoo at' all. No chile. I would tell you ifit was. I wouldn't lead you nowhere it weren't safe to go.

She had awakened in the middle of the night and begun contemplating the situation again, more worry filling her head than any ideas about what to do now that

Scott had disappeared. Over the years Ruth had grown used to his spur-of-the­ moment trips-he photographed rain forests and other threatened eco-systems and the people who lived in them for a living-but this time was different. For one thing, he hadn't asked her to make his travel arrangements as he usually did. That was how they'd met thirteen years ago. He'd dropped into her Fort Lauderdale agency, his

Konica hanging around his neck by a florescent orange strap, pleading for a one-way ticket to Venezuela "yesterday." His sherry brown eyes-hazel didn't adequately describe them-were intense as he explained his grant had just come through. Ruth found the stocky dark-skinned man with those warm brown eyes hotter than July.

She'd felt oddly disappointed when she managed to get him a flight leaving out of

Miami the next day. But upon his return to South Florida three months later he'd invited her to dinner at a French place on Las Olas. They'd sat outdoors afterwards at a nearby spot with live music, drinking Courvoisier and taking in the silky April breezes. He'd studied her smooth brown face as closely as if he were trying to memorize her tiny nose, the sharp curve of her chin. She'd loved the attention, loved listening to him. By the time the night was over she finally understood the greenhouse effect; Scott had learned a little something about twenty-one day advance purchases.

He had stayed in town three months that time: long enough for them to become

52 lovers. Lovers who resumed their affair whenever he was back in Fort Lauderdale.

Lovers who agreed marriage wouldn't work when Ruth became pregnant with

Jeremy. Lovers who became friends when the romantic part of their relationship eroded nine years ago.

But six months ago, he'd left without warning and Ruth hadn't heard a peep from him since. Bradley Grayson, a mutual acquaintance of theirs, said Scott had gone to Africa--something about a dying river. Ruth told Jeremy his father was deep in the Congo somewhere that his cell phone didn't work. (So far he'd accepted this explanation, knowing his father had never been one for E-mail or letters.) Given his wanderlust, Scott could have been in Mrica, or anywhere else from the Caymans to

Switzerland. Only one thing was clear: he was beyond the reach of the courts.

Without the support for Jeremy, and because she'd made an average of twenty thousand dollars less for the last two years, it hadn't taken Ruth long to fall behind.

So far behind that it was like running a marathon on asphalt with just one foot. That was how she had gotten into this situation. That was how she had gotten to this point in time ...

She didn't remember falling asleep: just her grandmother sitting on the yellow chair cattycorner to the bed when she awakened. Sucking her teeth like she used to when boiled peanuts were stuck between them. It was the smacking noise-like a rat knawing on something tasty-that had awakened her.

The room had smelled thickly of gardenias.

53 There was no reason to believe that it could even be done, although her

grandmother had provided specific directions that included what to expect afterwards.

Directions so clear that it had seemed like remembering a conversation they'd had

before.

Trouble always come. Ain't no use in pretending otherwise cause none ofus

is immune; no matter how good a life you live. And when it come, well, you do what you have to to get by till it pass.

Ruth's mind had seemed fuzzy when she awakened the following morning.

The first thing she recalled was her grandmother advising her from that yellow chair.

Doubt kept company with recollection, so she sniffed the air for the floral scent she

associated with her grandmother. It lingered like the pungent smell of cut grass. The

memory of the scent stayed with her after she had gotten Jeremy off to school and

then driven to her office, where she continued to plan for the money transfer service

she hoped would save her business. It was still with her when she returned home.

Jeremy was watching television on the overstuffed sofa in the family room, an open

textbook in his lap. Did you do your homework yet? He said, "I'ma do it right now,

Mama," and went to his room. She turned off the television and went into the kitchen to cook.

Dinner tonight was grits and salmon croquettes with canned sweet peas. Ruth

had thrown the meal together after discovering the freezer bag labeled boneless

skinless chicken breasts contained beef bones. She watched as Jeremy dug the times of his fork into one of the round croquettes that resembled crabcakes. "Ooh, I like

54 these better than when you make the regular fish," he said after his first bite. As if he'd known a can of salmon was a fraction ofthe cost of just one caught in the wild filet. Ruth smiled with relief and started eating, surprised to find they were actually very good. She'd had Jeremy set the table with their good china while she cooked. It was a nice meal. With the silver trimmed platter of golden croquettes and matching serving bowls of steaming buttered grits and canned green peas, Grandma's round mahogany table looked almost as formal as a holiday. Jeremy slurped grits; even devoured all of the mushy peas on his plate, helping himself to more of them when he was done. He'd already eaten four of the eight croquettes and his eyes favored the two left on the platter. Since he turned eleven he'd been eating bigger and bigger portions, though he was a normal size-4' 10," ninety pounds-for his age. The boy is just hungry, she thought as she insisted he have more of them, too. Are you sure you ate lunch today? She passed them to him and then resumed picking at her own meal.

"I keep eating because this is the best thing you ever cooked, Mama." He said it was the different tastes that he couldn't get enough of She'd only put a mashed potato and chopped bell pepper and onion in them. A little seasoned salt. She knew there should have been steamed spinach-his favorite vegetable-with the meal. Sliced strawberries afterwards. A growing child needed fresh fruits and vegetables. But he'd chowed down on those peas. Eaten the Jell-0 she used to serve only in a pinch; gummed it just like he always had since he was little. Afterwards she'd washed the dishes in hot soapy water with just a touch of ammonia to cut the grease and fish odor. She'd rinsed them and then Jeremy had dried and put them away in the cabinet.

55 They hadn't cleaned up together in ages; it used to be the housekeeper's job before they had to let her go.

Ain't no shame in having to make do, Ruthie. No shame et 'all. What's sinful is not doing everything in yo power to let trouble know who's in charge. But I don't have to tell you nothin. You was resourceful from the time you figured out how to start that travel agency place without needin a penny from yo daddy and me.

While Jeremy got ready for bed, she went through her supplies from the last hurricane season. There was a jug of spring water. Several memorial Yahrzeit candles were left; holy lights, the label read. During the last hurricane warning, they'd been the only kind she could find at the supermarket. Ruth assumed they were more appropriate than the drip-free musk ones she usually burned in the bedroom. The nights Henry stayed over. She always kept a notepad and pen on the nightstand, right near the Bible, just in case she dreamt something she wanted to remember. It had come in handy last night.

Light the candle first. So the person you call on can see the way clear to you.

Ifyou can 't get spring water, use distilled Put it in a clear glass from the china cabinet. A nice one like the crystal I left you. Don't nobody want to travel far to drink out a jelly jar.

She bathed in lavender water and dried with a white cotton towel. Smoothed her skin with cocoa butter cream so she would smell nice. Pinned her hair off her face and put on her most comfortable blue pajamas.

56 Might be nice ifyou wear the favorite color of the person you call on. Don't call on me, though. I already come this far once to tell you what to do.

She put on her house shoes and walked around making sure the doors were locked. The sound of the wind picking up outside surprised and pleased her. On the way to her bedroom she looked in on Jeremy. He was snoring, his pink and brown feet visible where he'd kicked off the covers. She smoothed them over him and picked up a Miami Heat pillow that had fallen to the floor. Without going into detail, she'd told him they might have to move to Henry's condo in North Lauderdale. If I have to switch schools, Mama, I'll still be able to be on the basketball team, right? he'd asked. I can't promise what the future will hold, son. But I will do everything in my power ...

"Everything in my power," she said to Jeremy's sleeping form. She lowered his window in case it got too cool and then went to her bedroom.

Ifyou decide on yo daddy don't be surprised if he say not to bother him again after he give it to you. Ain't none of us is allowed to come back to the same person twice.

She closed the door to her room and climbed into bed and lay between layers of cool cotton. Waited for sleep to claim her before she did anything she might regret.

The whole idea was crazy. She would be risking hell and damnation. Not even for money, but for a number to play. It was stupid. Lord, help her. Insane.

Sleep seemed a first cousin to fortune.

57 She got up and lit the candle she'd placed on the nightstand. A waxy smell filled the air along with sulfur. The little flame cast a dim light around the white walls like the Christmas lights she had not bothered to hang this year. She poured plenty of spring water from the silver pitcher into one of the Waterford tumblers Daddy used to use when he still drank liquor. The funeral program with his picture had been wedged in the family pages of her Bible since they buried him two winters ago. But she opened the book and confirmed it was still there before getting back into bed, pulling the quilt up to her shoulders.

Make sure to let the candle burn out on its awn after you write down the number. Might be a week 'fore you hit, so make sure you play it every day. The exact same number. Burn the paper you wrote it on qfter you collect the money. Do not ever play the number again.

She closed her eyes and slept now, anxious to awaken. Didn't know how long she'd been asleep when she began dreaming about the yellow chair her grandmother had sat in the night before. She was fluffing its cushion in the dream. The wind rustled one of the tree branches flanking the open window. The sound crept into

Ruth's thoughts. She stirred and shifted to the other side of the bed, losing the comfort of the quilt as she moved. The breeze cooled her skin. She sat up and saw her father standing at the foot of her bed.

"I always liked you in blue, Ruthie," he said, shaking his head at her. "Heard you've been having a hard time. I'ma give you this number to play so as to help you out some, but you can't ever disturb me this way again," he said. "Understand?"

58 Ruth tried to speak but it was if her vocal cords were paralyzed. The only thing she could equate it with was how she'd felt coming out ofthe anesthesia after her wisdom teeth were removed. She opened her mouth several times, without producing sound. Finally, she nodded at her father.

"Damn, Ruthie. I ain't ever known you to be so quiet." Her father's chuckle was as guttural as it'd been before the cancer took root in his throat. "Four, five one," he said. Ruth picked up the pen and paper at the nightstand and wrote the numbers down. Her father pointed to the crystal glass. "That water?"

She nodded and watched, spellbound, as he walked over to the nightstand­ the limp he had from the injury he'd sustained when he worked construction undetectable--and picked up the glass and drained it. His gulping sounds pleased

Ruth. The flickering candle dimmed a little, but resumed burning strong momentarily.

Ruth fought lethargy and said, "It's spring water, Daddy. Just like Grandma said to get." Now that she could speak, she felt perfectly normal. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for her father's calloused hand. He smiled and put the glass down, but turned away from her. "We both watching over you, baby girl," he said. "Yo Mama, too." Ruth smiled and watched as he walked past her bed and sat in the yellow chair. His square shoulders still dwarfed its narrow frame. "I'll just rest my feet here a minute," he said and closed his eyes. Ruth heard the branch sweep the window ledge again. She turned towards the sound. The next thing she knew she was alone in the room again. All she could smell was candle wax. She checked the notepad and saw the numbers she'd written. Four five one, she repeated as she

59 climbed back under the covers. Sleep claimed her the minute her head hit the soft pillow.

In the morning, do not drink what water is left. Po 'it down the toilet andflush right away. Three times. Just to be sure.

When her alarm went off at six, the candlelight had died. She got up and examined the room carefully. There was no sign that anyone but her had been there, but the crystal glass was empty. And the numbers were still on the pad in dark blue ink. She poured the leftover water in the silver pitcher into the toilet; flushed as directed. Put the candle jar in the trash. Then she threw on sweatpants and a T -shirt from the other day's run, grabbed her purse and headed outside. She drove to the comer gas station. There were pencils and cards for the lottery at a podium-like counter. She blacked in the digits, played the number to hit every which way, and then hurried home and got her and Jeremy ready to face the day.

That night Henry came over with two pizzas. "For us meat lovers," he said, handing one white and red box to Jeremy. He gave the other to Ruth, sneaking a kiss, while Jeremy placed the box on the table at the breakfast nook. While Ruth set out plates and napkins and poured them all glasses of orange Kool Aid, Henry sat on the bench seat next to Jeremy. Ruth heard their usual trash talking about teams and sports of which she was blessedly oblivious. The three of them spent almost every Friday night like this.

After they ate, she cleaned up while the "men" watched ESPN together. When the kitchen was tidy, she moved on to her bedroom. She placed musk scented candles

60 on her nightstand, atop the chest of drawers opposite her bed. Put a Will Downing CD in her mini-sound system and then took a long bath in lavender water and shaved her legs. Since Henry had been working two jobs-he did telemarketing four hours a night after he left his computer sales position, plus one weekend day-they had so little time together that she liked everything to be perfect when he stayed over. When she was done with her bath, she put on her robe and went to make sure Jeremy got ready for bed. Henry turned off the television and went to her room while she was seeing after Jeremy. He had showered and was waiting for her when she returned to her bedroom. The lamps had been turned off; the candles lit. Now was their time to be private:

In the morning Henry went out for bagels and the paper. Ruth looked in on

Jeremy, who was sound asleep, before going to the kitchen to make coffee. When

Henry returned, placing the paper on the kitchen counter, Ruth grabbed her purse, took out the ticket and began flipping through the paper in search oflast night's results. "Since when do you play the lottery?" Henry squeezed her waist as he passed her and grabbed the coffee pot. Ruth grimaced as she saw she had not won. Just something I dreamt, she said. He handed her a mug of steaming coffee and she busied herself taking a sip. She was not going to tell him what she had done. He would think it was crazy.

Over the next few days she played the number at the corner gas station, at

Publix, the little Farm Store in the strip mall next to her travel agency. She even

61 played on Sunday, the Sabbath, which she knew you were supposed to keep holy. The number still hadn't hit. But her grandmother had said it might take a week, so she kept on playing the full seven days. The rest of the week went by in the strained manner that had become the norm for her over the past six months. Weekdays she sat at her desk, making arrangements for the clients she had left-she still had a few loyal business executives who did not want to spend time they could use making a sale booking their own travel. Nights she negotiated the contents in her pantry to make nutritious meals for her son.

On the eighth day she woke up in a panic. More bills were stacked up on the buffet near the bowl of cinnamon potpourri. She sat in the breakfast nook trying to think of what to do next, leaning against the bench seat, her feet touching the cushion on the opposite side. She still had three of the memorial candles left and thought of calling on someone else she'd been close to. The only dead person she could think of, though, was her mother. She had been gone since Ruth was two-hit by a car on her way home from the grocery store. Still, Daddy had said she was watching over her, too. Ruth knew what her mother looked like in pictures at age twenty-five, the last year of her life: bright brown skin, sharp cheekbones and mischievous eyes. But she didn't remember her at all. Would it work if you called on someone you didn't even know?

Doubt replaced speculation.

Jeremy came home from school hyper and smiling. "Mrs. Taylor's taking us to Butterfly World," he said, tossing his backpack on the bench. "We're even gonna

62 see butterflies from South America, like Dad took pictures of Pretty cool, huh?"

Ruth nodded. The boy was so used to his father being away he had no idea Scott had dropped out of their lives. He opened the backpack and handed her a permission slip.

Ruth winced at the $15 price tag, although it included lunch. She thought about the growing stack of unpaid bills.

"Why are you frowning, Mama?"

She willed her face to relax and asked when he needed the money.

"Next week," Jeremy said. He opened the refrigerator and took out the milk carton. She watched him shake it and then turn the container to his mouth.

Boy, how many times have I told you- "There was just a little bit left,

Mama." He put the carton down; there hadn't even been enough to make the usual white moustache on his mahogany skin.

Ruth signed the form-what was fifteen dollars at this point?-and told him to start his homework. She was going to the store. No cooking or answering the door while she was gone. She hated having to leave him alone and unsupervised.

Things don't always go our way sometimes. No matter how much we want 'em to. No matter how hard we try. But don't you give in, Ruthie, you hear me? Don't you ever give in. You gotta keep pushing till you find a door that 'II open for you.

She had bought a half-gallon of milk and was on the way out of the supermarket when she decided to give the number one more try. For good measure, she played the bi-weekly Lotto, too. Six-dollars total. How much had she already spent on tickets? How much more should she spend before giving up altogether?

63 When she returned to her car there was a white business card tucked under the windshield wiper. She pulled it out. It was for Margaret Carson Brown, who called herself a "Christian Realtor and Debt Management Consultant." Why did her name seem familiar? The fine print said: I will get the best price for the home you buy or sell. I can also help you save your home from foreclosure. Ruth tucked it into her purse and unlocked the car. A fly flew towards her face, and she swatted it with her hands, suddenly smelling gardenias.

64 Slave Wages

Jillian was surprised that the carpet in the sanctuary was so dirty. She had just

cleaned it last month, and people only worshipped in the room two days a week. But

Church of the Redeemed wasn't just any church. There was so much community

outreach it may as well have been called in reach, because folks were always coming

in there for help. All kinds of people who-judging by the near black water in the

carpet cleaner-knew little about wiping their feet at the door.

The heavy orange machine made a choking sound as she finished the section

near the altar where the Christmas tree stood in the shadow of the cross. It was a

strange place for a holiday decoration considering there was no real relation between the artificial green tree, with its gold garland and colorful lights, and what the

distinguished wooden cross symbolized. And American people mocked her country's

Vodun. She laughed to herself as she turned off the machine, dragging it down the

stairs to the main aisle. Upon restarting it and pressing the spray button, it coughed up

a gust of water that made a wet circle about the circumference of a salad plate. "Lord,

Lord," she mumbled and quickly suctioned the section so it wouldn't cause a stain.

Her work had to be perfect when she told Pastor Brown what she wanted.

Satisfied she had gotten the area dry enough, she began cleaning the next

section, but when she pressed the spray button this time nothing came out. "Instead of

Rug Doctor, they should call it Rug Disaster," she muttered as she removed the linty basket from the machine and carried it to the utility closet, where she added more

65 water and cleaner. She'd already refilled it twice which meant, judging from the previous cleaning, she only had about six more times to go. This carpet cleaning, that took an extra three-hour shift to complete, hadn't been mentioned when she accepted this job one year ago. Of course, a green card hadn't been either. She'd felt so blessed that these strangers, who had welcomed her to their church, had been willing to give her work-no questions asked. "Yes, it sounds good, Jillian," her sister Marie had said. "But remember these people think nothing of taking advantage of us. This is why we must always be careful."

Pastor Brown had only added this task to her duties last month-about the same time that he'd stepped up his spiel about tithing. "The Lord requires His servants to give Him the first ten percent of what they earn," he said. Jillian always put what she could spare in the offering plate. Wasn't anyone's business how much that was but the Lord's. So it seemed like Pastor was trying to get her ten percent from this carpet, since she wouldn't give it in an envelope like everyone else.

"Afternoon, Sister Jillian." Speak of the devil. She turned and saw Pastor

Brown walking towards her; his curious eyes surveying the carpet. Seemed like he was trying to get close enough to see how good a job she was doing without damaging the work she had already done. The man was always calculating. "How are you today?" he asked. He was close enough that Jillian could smell the sandalwood in his cologne, but his eyes were still on the carpet, not her. Did he notice the spot?

"I'm well and you." When he didn't respond she said, "It is even more dirty than usual." She tried to catch his eye.

66 Pastor Brown was still trying to remember whether he had signed the check for her belated Christmas bonus. He'd only begun working full time at his CPA business a week ago, but was already having a hard time switching gears from one job to the other. Finally he looked at Jillian. "Your accent is getting less noticeable every day," he said.

She nodded. How many times did she have to tell him, she'd learned English at the community school in Harlem when she first came to this country from Haiti four years ago. Despite the bitter weather, she sometimes wished she had stayed in

New York instead of coming to South Florida. She still remembered things like eating steamed hot dogs with onion sauce and how you could ride on the subway everywhere, never needing a car. Most important, she felt that people there had not tried to take advantage of her. "Pastor Brown. I must speak with you-"

"Sorry, Jillian. I'm meeting someone in a few minutes. It will have to be later," he said. "This wet?" He pointed to an aisle she hadn't begun yet. Jillian shook her head no, but even as she did he'd already crossed over to it and was walking towards his office. She frowned at his back. Yes, you will see me later, she thought as she continued, the machine leading her backwards down the long aisle. She was not leaving this church today without a raise. She would quit first, she told herself She needed this job but not badly enough to be mistreated by people who looked like her.

Pastor Brown had seemed no more concerned about increasing her cleaning duties without a corresponding increase in pay, than Mr. Shaw did about changing her responsibilities taking care of his crippled mother. She now had to work until nine

67 each morning-the earliest his wife could get home from personal training at the

gym-instead of seven-thirty, the time they'd originally agreed on. Because of this,

she had not been able to get to her math class since Halloween. She'd had to withdraw from school. It was only supposed to take two years to get her radiology technician certificate, but she couldn't start the program until she completed the

prerequisites. And she had made little progress. It was no consolation that plump Mrs.

Shaw hadn't either. The situation had been on her mind ever since she'd found out

about the place in Miami that was hiring medical assistants under the table. She could work evenings for a general practice that was run out of a private home three days a week. The job paid $6 an hour and, as Marie had pointed out, was far more suited to her interest to work in the medical profession than this cleaning one.

The machine was out of water again. She took the water basket to the utility

closet for the next refill. On the way back to the sanctuary this time, she saw Hyacinth heading toward the choir room. Even in simple blue jeans, with a blue sweater wrapped around her striped shirt, she managed to look like a clothing catalog model.

In her green hospital's laundry and plastic gloves, Jillian felt tacky in comparison as they stopped to greet one another.

"Is there practice tonight?" Jillian feared she had forgotten.

"We're supposed to be here early for the Watch Night service tomorrow, but we don't rehearse again this week until Saturday. I'm meeting Ruth after she sees

Pastor Brown. Do you know if she's here yet?"

68 "I did not see her. But she may have come in through Pastor's office," Jillian said. "So many people track in and out of here all the time. It is still the busy season, eh?"

"Tell me about it. Carpet sure needed cleaning," Hyacinth observed. She stared down the aisle. What it needed more though, was to be replaced. It was too bad the church hadn't raised enough for the building fund.

"Carpet sure needs professional cleaner," Jillian said. She glanced around to make sure no one else was nearby. "When I worked for the Day Maid service, this sort of thing was paid a special rate."

"You don't get extra?"

Jillian shook her head no. "And I have to spend an entire evening doing this.

Once a month, because Pastor says a worn carpet shows dirt more."

Hyacinth frowned. "You should ask for a raise."

"I plan to. If not, I will never earn enough to get through school."

"There may be a way we can help you with that," Hyacinth said.

"We?''

"There's an opening in the Hand."

"The Sous Sous? So soon?" The last time Hyacinth had asked her to join was

April. And it was supposed to have run for a year. That's what she thought she'd been told.

"I know it's toward the end, but, well, let me put it this way, and I hope I am speaking in confidence."

69 Jillian nodded. Since they sang in the choir together she felt a connection with

Hyacinth that she didn't with the most of the other women in the church.

"Ruth cannot continue. So her spot is open." Hyacinth said. Normally

Hyacinth did not permit anyone in the Hand to withdraw early; it just created too many problems for her and the others. But she had personal knowledge ofRuth's situation and wanted to help her. "You would be doing both of us a favor if you stepped in-"

"When is she due to collect?" Jillian knew there was an order in which you got your money in these things. If Ruth would be getting hers soon ...

"She was December, but it makes no difference since she hasn't kept up with her payments. She will not get the money she contributed until this cycle ends in

April. That's how we run things. What's in it for you is that when the next cycle begins, in May ... we usually pick numbers to determine the order, but I'll make sure you're first to collect. And of course you will get what you contribute during this cycle in a lump sum when it ends. The only thing I must stress is you have to stay in a full year after that...until the following April. Understand, my sister?" Last year, when she recruited Cynthia to replace Jenna Jones, she hadn't been clear about the duration of time she had to stay in the group. She made sure not to make that mistake with Jillian.

"And the others won't mind?"

70 "Someone always has to be first. And most of the sisters in the group have been at least once. In fact, most of them prefer to get their money last anyway. They find it helps their motivation to continue."

Jillian had discussed things with Marie last time there had been an opening, but she'd advised her to wait until she knew these people better. In New York they had known many who belonged to Sous Sous groups and saw them as a good opportunity to save money without involving a bank.

"I would like to join this time, Hyacinth."

"Great. Normally I have to have the money by the second Thursday of the month for disttibution the second Friday, but since we're already at the end of the month if you can just give me $500 by the eighth of next month."

"Five-hundred? How many months will that cover?''

"Two. The amount for this cycle is two-fifty per month."

"Two-hundred fifty dollars a month! Oh Lord, no. Too much! I do not even make that in a month here." In New York she had known people who saved even more, but knowing others who had done it was very different from being able to do it yourself

Hyacinth raised her eyebrows and her supermodel hair shook a little. "Jillian, you must work here three times a week ... "

"At least ten hours each week. But forty-five a week is all I make."

"But that's not even minimum wage .. .it's slave wages."

71 "Yes, slave wages," Jillian repeated. The words struck her. She was from a

proud people that had freed themselves over two hundred years ago. Yet she'd come to America to work for slave wages.

"I'm going to talk to Pastor Brown about this." Hyacinth said.

"I am already planning to speak with him. Today. Ever since he added this

carpet cleaning I decided. I will not keep cleaning with this Rug Disaster machine."

Hyacinth's laughter was a crackly sound unlike her sweet soprano. "Good for you. Let me know how it goes. And about the Hand. If it's too much-"

"IfPastor gives me my raise, I will have enough. I will let you know after I

see him."

The women spoke of their preparations for New Year's Eve and when Ruth came out ofPastor Brown's office, she and Hyacinth headed down to the Fellowship hall. A New Year's Eve dinner for the people at the Bedford shelter would be held in that room before the Watch Night service tomorrow. Some kind of traditional

African-American food Jillian hoped would not be too messy. She also hoped the carpet would dry before they began reaching in here.

The work was finally done. She rolled the machine down to Pastor's office.

She could hear him speaking to someone so she waited in the hall. She leaned against the wall and was drowsing on her feet when she heard the doorknob click. Jillian came alert quickly. Pastor Brown seemed surprised to see her standing outside his office with the machine as if they were close girlfriends.

"You cleaning the carpet in here tonight?"

72 "No, remember? I need to speak with you."

He looked at his watch. She'd heard Brother Griffin say once that it was a

Rolex but Jillian didn't know a Rolex from the Timex she wore on her own arm.

"Please. It will not take long."

Pastor Brown beckoned for her to enter his office. It was a boxy room with a

double window and fancy maroon leather furniture. The 20- inch television was off,

but Jillian recognized the voice of Donnie McClurkin, Pastor Brown's favorite

contemporary Christian artist, coming in over the CD player.

She took a seat on the chair in front of Pastor Brown's desk. The spacious

room was surprisingly neat, even though she hadn't been in here since last Saturday.

"You are satisfied with my work, no?" she said. Her voice was even and sure.

Of course he was satisfied. Forty-five dollars a week for ten hours of work-not

including the carpet. No American would work for that, not even a child. Hyacinth

was right. What he paid her was slave wages, plain and simple.

"Yes, of course. As a matter of fact, I meant to give you little something extra for Christmas, but the check didn't get cut it in time. You'll get it next time you're

paid. It's not much, I'm afraid. As you know, we're a little behind in our giving."

"Thank you, Pastor Brown. But I am sorry to say I cannot continue to work for what you pay. I need a raise."

"Now, Jillian, I don't know if you saw the bulletin, but we are falling short in this congregation." Pastor Brown's voice was as melodious as if he were singing a hymn. "As of last Sunday, we are twenty-five thousand dollars behind our pacing for

73 this time last year. And we're nowhere near our goals for the building fund. I'm hoping to make some of it up by year end, but-"

"This does not concern me," Jillian said. And it did not, though this pacing thing and being behind was something she could relate to. Her whole life was behind schedule because she happened to have been born on a small island that despite two centuries of freedom, had not known peace or prosperity or stability in her lifetime.

She did not come here to keep pacing behind everyone else.

"I want what I am entitled to, Pastor." She thought about what Hyacinth had said. "You have given me even more work. And you do not even pay me minimum wage."

Pastor Brown shook his head. "You are absolutely correct, Sister Jillian. And if you have to leave our employ because we contract your cleaning services at a rate that doesn't correspond to the minimum wage, I will definitely understand ... "

Was he saying she did not deserve minimum wage because she wasn't a real employee?

" ... Fact is there just isn't enough in the budget to increase your contract. As you know I have given up my salary. Margaret and I will be doing a lot of taxes in the coming months just to make ends meet ourselves." He shook his head. It was wrong not to pay her more, but what could he do? When the church caught up on its finances, he'd be able to do something, but not now.

Jillian was thinking about the Brown household: a waterfront home filled with numerous prone-to-dust items, floor to ceiling windows, and white marble flooring

74 with a light grout she'd hate to be the one to have to keep clean. She knew because she'd done it once-for their spring open house. The Browns working harder to make ends meet meant little to her when she lived in a room with a mattress for a bed, a wardrobe rack for a closet and a window for air conditioning.

"Then I am sorry, but I must give my notice."

"Another job?"

"Yes," she hoped, no prayed, telling this would prompt him to do the right thing.

"I'm sorry that I can't do more," he said. He tapped the desk slowly, and then abruptly stopped. "Very sorry." How was he going to find someone to clean the church three times a week for $45? He'd have to ask Margaret to put an ad in the paper. But she wouldn't be happy about it. His wife hated dealing with church business even more than she did the CPA stuff

"I will stay on till the end of the next week. I hope you have no trouble finding someone to replace me." She knew he would-who would work so hard for so little?

But that thought didn't comfort her as she said good night. He had seemed so sincere that she felt a twinge of regret. But she reminded herself that the job at the doctor's office not only paid more, it was also closer to her interests.

"Wait a minute, Jillian. I just thought of something. What if you didn't have to do the carpet anymore? Could I convince you to stay then?"

"For the same amount?"

75 "As soon as our finances improve, I will try to give you an increase. But yes; for now, the same amount."

"I must still work three times a week?"

Pastor Brown hesitated. The reason for cleaning the church three times a week was because the kitchen was always so messy after the youth group on Friday nights.

If the congregation pitched in and started cleaning up after themselves, it would not be necessary. Finally he said, "As long as the church is clean for Sunday and

Wednesday services, I won't hold you to three times."

"Then I will stay," Jillian said. Why she would be able to work the other job, too! She felt a true joy. This is how you get ahead: by recognizing opportunities and exploiting them, she remembered Marie saying. "Yes, I will stay," she said again.

"Thank you."

"And thank you for your hard work." A budding disaster averted, Pastor

Brown stood and shook her hand before she left his office. Jillian heard him on the phone as she walked down the hall. She was certain Hyacinth was still in the building. Now that she could work both jobs, she was positive she would have enough to join her group.

She walked down the corridor to the fellowship hall. The double doors to the room were closed but she could hear someone ask when she would get her money.

Then she heard Hyacinth say, "You mustn't tell anyone but as soon as Jillian gives me the money each month, Ruth, I will give it to you. I should have thought to ask her sooner. People from the islands are always so easy to convince." If Jillian had

76 waited, or chosen to enter the room at that moment, she might have heard Hyacinth add, "It's black Americans like us who don't understand the viability of this kind of venture." But she had backed away from the door as if flames were seeping through its cracks.

I don't know why you want to go to that church where they don't even speak

Creole. And as beautiful as your voice is, why have they never let they let you sing solo? These black Americans don't really care about us; we are not like them, she heard Marie's words echo in her ears. Suddenly they rang true. She had thought

Hyacinth wanted to help her. But she was just being used to give the American woman money. Maybe she would join a Sous Sous, but it would be much safer to find one run by her own people. Island people. She would talk it over with Marie when she got home. She just thanked the Lord that He had protected her from being used.

She went to the utility room, grabbed her purse and decided to go back and tell Hyacinth her decision. This time she heard nothing as she approached the door, but she knocked before entering the room. Hyacinth and Ruth were sitting at one of the long tables. Their heads were bent towards the open Bibles in front of them.

"Hey," Ruth said, looking over her shoulder at Jillian. "How you doing?"

"I am blessed," Jillian said. She made her voice proud and spoke slowly and clearly. "Hyacinth, I am sorry but I cannot join your Sous Sous. I will see you tomorrow," she said abruptly. "Goodnight, Ruth." She walked out to the hall.

Hyacinth watched her walk away. "I wonder what on earth happened?" She thought aloud.

77 Ruth felt deflated again. Jillian had been her last hope to get her hands on

some quick cash. Well over a week ago, her father had given her what was supposed

to have been a winning number to play and it still hadn't hit. She'd been playing the

Florida Lottery, though. Her father used to play the numbers through someone he

knew at the Elks club. What if the number he'd given her was only good in the

underground game?

"Jillian must not have gotten her raise," Hyacinth said. "It's a shame how little

she makes working here."

"My Aunt Alice always says people from the islands think they are better than

us," Ruth said. "As if their ancestors were better because they were dropped off at a

different place than ours. Jillian does an okay job and all, but people like her come to

this country believing the streets of America are lined with gold and you can live off

the dust on your feet here instead of working. I bet that's why she thinks we don't pay

her enough. My aunt had a West Indian maid once wh

"Jillian is not like that," Hyacinth said, firmly. She wished she could do

something to help the church pay her friend more. But between covering people in the

Hand and Alfred not contributing much to the household lately, she just didn't have

anything extra. She sighed and resumed studying and praying with Ruth.

After leaving the fellowship hall, Jillian headed for the side exit near where

she'd parked her car. Her feelings were still hurt about what she'd overheard, but at least she hadn't been taken advantage of Marie would be proud of her for that. And

78 she would not have to clean the carpet anymore, either. So what she'd said to Ruth had been correct; the Lord had blessed her. That was all that mattered.

She was out the door when she remembered she still had to return the carpet cleaner. She went back inside the church and found it still propped against the wall near Pastor Brown's office. She stopped to secure the cord. Had it not been for this machine she may never have had the courage to ask for a raise. Although she would not miss it, now that she would no longer have to use the Rug Doctor, she decided it had not done too badly by her. No, not too badly, at all. She put her purse strap over her shoulder then around her neck, like Marie had taught her, and then danced the bulky orange machine out of the church.

79 Maxed Out

Were he to consult Hyacinth, Alfred knew he would be inviting another financial check up he was sure to fail. This was why he hated talking about money matters with his wife even more than he hated dealing with lawyers. The only thing he hated more than either was being broke.

So instead of telling her he had made an appointment to see an attorney, he was cooking one ofher favorite meals. He'd managed to leave the office before eight and had broken his last twenty to buy a nice piece ofbeef It was already bias sliced and marinating.

Now as he began to julienne the orange peel, its bright scent reminding him of how Hyacinth smelled when he caught her in the shower earlier, he was feeling more hopeful than he had in months. Things had been tense between them since he'd ignored her advice and gone to court without representation. Right afterwards, Rafael had given him the lawyer's name. "You might be able to get another hearing on the grounds you were represented by a fool," he'd said, a sarcastic smile lighting his face.

Alfred hadn't hit rock bottom then so he'd just smiled back at Rafael, played the whole thing off as if it were no big deal.

And he'd convinced himself of that. It was only since he cleaned out his savings buying Hyacinth that damned easel that the close margin he'd been operating within had become suddenly and painfully narrower. Sure the look on her face when she'd found the thing gleaming in the shadow ofthe Douglas fir-her prized Johnson

80 serigraph resting against it-had been priceless. But buying it hadn't been a smart move under the circumstances. He could see that now.

He tossed the orange peel into hot oil. Using his last cash money to buy the steak might not have been a good idea either, since he only had $200 in the bank until next pay period. His thought was immediately interrupted by Hyacinth's voice in his head. "Living from paycheck to paycheck is no way to live, Alfred." "Yeah right," he answered her, "in a perfect world." But that's what he had been doing quite well at before the last court order. Between the first Mrs. MacGregor's percentage for Alfred

Jr., the second Mrs. MacGregor's, for Bobby and the new and improved amount

Tanjia was awarded for Paula, more of his bi-weekly pay was now wired to the child support enforcement people than to his own bank account. With any luck, the lawyer would be able to get this remedied. And if, no when, it worked, he wouldn't have to tell Hyacinth a thing. She would notice a difference when he started contributing more to the household.

The phone rang as he added half the sliced beef to the wok. The kitchen extension was missing so he turned down the burner and ran to the den. According to the Caller ID it was Tanjia. He picked up the phone and then glanced around for the missing handset. "Hey, what's up?"

"What's up is you were supposed to pay me the money already."

"Pay you?" Alfred felt a muscle in his neck spasm. This was the problem in a nutshell: for all intents and purposes, he was working to pay the women with whom

81 he'd fathered children. "Okay, calm down, Tanjia. I know you got your money because it came out my check."

"I'm talking about the money for Paula's new uniforms. I know you did not forget! You said you'd have it after Christmas-"

"What I said was I'd try. And I don't have anything extra. Things are kind of tight right now."

"You know something? You would have the money ifyou hadn't gone and bought her that Barbie Jeep I specifically told you I did not want her to have. And furthermore ... "

Alfred had asked Hyacinth to return that damned toy. He had known Tanjia would think he was wasting money he could be giving her for Paula's care. But

Hyacinth ignored him and had the pink thing delivered Christmas Eve. By the time they'd gotten home from church that night-they'd worshipped together at hers for once since she was soloing-Paula had left three messages saying she loved her present while, in the background Tanjia complained that the present put the "little bitty gifts a single mother on a budget can afford to shame!" Alfred knew Hyacinth had meant well. But some things she should just take his word on. After three years of marriage that was something they still weren't in sync about.

" ... Do you hear me, Alfred?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Then what did I say?"

"Hyacinth and I shouldn't have given Paula the Jeep."

82 "After that."

"Well-"

"Cause you weren't listening. Well hear this: I am sick and tired of always being the one to get the short end of the stick. If Paula got a three hundred dollar Jeep, what did those sons of yours get? Real ones?"

"Tanjia-"

"You're livin' large up in that brand new house that's practically a mansion. I saw one of those paintings you have in your living room in a spread on Wesley

Snipes' house in Ebony, you know. Your boys both live in nice houses and go to private school and what does Paula get, huh? A raggedy ass apartment and public school."

"Look, Tanjia-"

"You promised you'd make sure Paula had everything she needed. But you're always broke. That's why I had to take you to court."

"Are you through?"

"No. Her doctor's bill last year came to six hundred dollars. You know you're responsible for part of it."

There went the rest of his money. He'd just have to put his expenses on his

MasterCard again this month. Hyacinth wouldn't approve but it wasn't as if he was going to tell her. That was one advantage of keeping their finances separate.

"I'll put a check in the mail for, uh, two hundred tomorrow." He smelled something smoky. The rice? He tossed the phone onto a chair and ran back to the

83 stove where a white haze rose from the wok. He'd turned down the wrong burner.

The stir-fried slices were now blackened strips. "Just a minute," he shouted, hoping she would hang up. He turned off the flame, put the fan on and looked down at the burned meat. He was supposed to be making orange beef, but wasn't there a Chinese recipe called crispy beef? Or was it twice cooked?

He went back to get the phone. "Sorry about that. 1-"

"How do you get two-hundred when the court said you have to pay forty percent ofPaula's medical? It's two hundred and forty, okay. Two hundred and forty dollars! You'd better get it right, Alfred, or I'm taking you back to court."

He promised to write the check for two forty. Tanjia seemed placated so he hung up the phone without further mention of Paula's uniforms. This was a good thing since he was officially penniless until next payday: his big check. He'd have almost three hundred dollars left after paying bills. It would probably have to go towards his MasterCard so he could keep it under the limit. Even if the lawyer was able to get him some relief, he was still so far behind financially he would never catch up. Surely he was entitled to a hardship withdrawal from his 401K about now. What were the grounds under which the IRS wouldn't penalize? Damn if he could remember.

But he was going to have to withdraw some of it just so he could make it to

AJ' s eighteenth birthday next year. He'd be at Florida Agricultural and Mechanical

University, by then. Since he and Mrs. MacGregor #1 had both contributed to that prepaid college fund Alfred felt no obligation to continue regular support beyond that

84 much anticipated date. Once the first Mrs. MacGregor was off the dole, the situation would ease up. Unless Tanjia or Mrs. MacGregor II tried to get another increase.

What if one of them did that?

Just thinking about it all made his brain tired. He went back to the stove and sampled the meat. It didn't taste all that bad. He'd eat this batch himself and use the rest to make a scorch-free version for Hyacinth. She deserved the best.

"How is it?"

"Perfect, Alfred." Hyacinth picked up more food with her ivory chopsticks.

"One thing I can always count on is your culinary ability." A slight smile was on her mouth as she spoke.

Alfred grinned back, but something in her tone made him study her face. Her green eyes seemed frozen as a Popsicle. And she was mechanically chewing as if counting each bite. She finally swallowed. "What did Tanjia want?"

"Tanjia?"

"Wasn't that her on the phone?"

Damn the Caller ID. "Oh, yeah. She didn't want anything."

"Paula okay?"

He nodded and chewed his burnt orange beef It was tough and leathery as jerky.

"So what did she want?"

85 He told her the truth. Then deciding it would show he had things under control, he casually mentioned he was thinking about a withdrawal from his 401 K.

Just to have a cushion for these unexpected expenses. Of course he'd pay any tax penalty.

She nodded a few times, then picked at her remaining food.

"Something wrong?" There was no way her beef was overcooked this time. It was medium, just as she liked it. And he'd put the steamed brown rice in the Japanese bowl she preferred.

"You really don't get it."

"Get what, Hyacinth?"

"It affects me, too, if you withdraw early. I'm the one in the higher tax bracket. Whether you pay the penalty or not, it still affects me!"

Alfred watched her face redden and then pale. When they met three years ago, he had told her about the divorces, the children and the support, but it must not have occurred to her he'd have so little to bring to the table. "I have a failed marriage behind me, too," she had said. "So I can't hold that against you. And I love kids. I want a few of my own. They mean everything."

"What do you want me to do?" Alfred didn't really want an answer. He didn't want her to offer something to tide him over. He especially didn't want to be having this conversation.

"I don't know what I want, Alfred." Her chopsticks clicked as she tapped the table with them. Alfred gave up on the jerky.

86 "I'm really trying to get this in order. Rafael says I should have had a lawyer the last time."

"I told you that-"

"I know. That's why I finally made an appointment."

"-But it wasn't my business telling you how to handle one of your ex­ wives-excuse me baby mama. " Her eyes were steely.

"All right, Hyacinth."

"Just reminding you, you told me to butt out then and I did. Now you're asking my advice."

"I'm not asking you anything."

"You didn't just ask me if you should take an early withdrawal from your

401K."

"No. What I did was tell you that's what I plan to do."

"It's going to screw up our taxes." She put down her chopsticks. The gentleness with which she rested them near her plate surprised Alfred.

"I said I'd pay any penalty."

She frowned. "Okay. Okay. I suppose you need to do something."

"Yeah."

"But I'd much rather you pull out of Greenlake."

"Greenlake? Hyacinth, that's the only thing financially we've done together."

They did have a joint bank account. But Alfred hadn't ever made any substantial deposits to it. That didn't count.

87 "I know Alfred. But let's face it; it's a much smarter move."

"We'd both have to sell though, wouldn't we?"

"Not exactly. I could give you back what you put in. With interest, of course. I wouldn't want to pull out of it completely right now. Gregory was saying the other day the earnings haven't peaked yet."

"So in effect you'd be buying me out."

"It would be temporary. I'm just trying to help you."

Alfred sniffed the air; the bittersweet scent ofbailout was perfuming the air.

It was one aroma for which he'd developed a profound distaste.

"Let me wait and see what the lawyer says," he said.

The lawyer's office was on the first floor of what looked like a three story home but was actually a small office building near the county courthouse. The lobby was unmanned, but he easily followed the signs to the suite. The receptionist, a middle-aged ash blonde with blindingly white teeth, greeted him. "He's on the phone right now. But you can wait right there, Mr. MacGregor." She pointed to the seating area, which contained matching pink and green floral sofas. They chatted a bit when the phone call ended.

Banks stood when Alfred entered his doorway. He was a tall man, at least five inches taller than Alfred's six feet. His gray suit jacket hung on a coat rack too close to his teak desk. It looked Italian cut-and expensive. The wooden blinds at the large window were partly open.

88 The men shook hands. Then Banks sat down at a huge black leather chair while Alfred sat opposite him in a smaller one that had stubby brown legs. It was sleek and comfortable. Alfred leaned back and got to the point. Banks interrupted a few times and asked for dates and figures, jotting them on a legal pad.

He confirmed that Alfred would not be obligated to continue the support for

1 AJ past his 18 h birthday. "From the looks of things, that should help you out some."

"That's good news. My wife and I would like to start a family soon." Were it up to him, he would have stopped at Bobby. But Hyacinth wanted a child of her own; he'd have to have one with her.

"And I imagine you can barely support her on what's left over from this."

"Uh, actually she makes more than I do."

"Oh." A few seconds of silence, during which Alfred felt the inadequacy of his obvious dependence on his wife's earnings. But making less than Hyacinth didn't make him any less of man. Did it? The room suddenly seemed too bright.

"We could try if you like, Al, but unless you have a major loss of income, there's probably not much I can do for you about the other court orders." Alfred felt the vein at his temple pulse. "I've found the courts aren't too receptive to these kinds of cases." Banks leaned back on his massive chair and it suddenly spun off center from his desk.

"Oops," he grinned. He looked like a giant kid. "Think over whether you want to give the reduction option a shot. My fee is $250 an hour if you do. Estimate a

89 minimum of four grand to get the case heard. And, of course, if you get sued again,

I'd be more than happy to represent you. Just call and let me know."

Alfred was so dejected by the news that he left his office at six and bought fresh Cornish hens at the natural foods market. His MasterCard had gone through.

Cleaning the poultry cavities felt therapeutic. He sprinkled them with salt and herbs and then stuffed in onion and carrot pieces. When he first realized Hyacinth had never actually prepared the elaborate dinners she served those few months they dated, he had been disappointed. But he'd since learned to enjoy experimenting in the kitchen and had quickly surpassed her culinary inability.

Hyacinth came in while he was mashing the potatoes. She had to have smelled the roasting poultry; its aroma was filling the room like Thanksgiving. But she just asked what time they were eating, then went straight to the bedroom without another word.

Alfred's scalp tightened. He pressed the masher more firmly into the bowl of crumbled potato. He was seasoning the gravy when she came downstairs in a white lounging outfit he'd never seen. Her bare feet looked soft and pretty. She set the table in silence, while Alfred transferred the food to serving dishes.

"Something wrong?"

"A rough day," she said.

They were almost through eating before she asked what happened. He told her.

90 "It just figures," she said. She shook her head and he noticed every strand of her hair was a different shade of brown. It was shorter too. When had she done that?

He'd make it a point to tell her it looked nice.

"Don't make it sound like it's the end of the world, honey. The worst of this will be over in a year."

"A year?"

"AJ's on his own once he graduates."

"A year still seems like forever." There was an edge to her voice just like the other night. Alfred felt something like hopelessness swallowing all the air in the room. He realized he was clenching his teeth. He took a drink of water.

"Dinner okay?" He thought he'd done a nice job with the gravy. It was smooth and robust.

"It sure would be nice to have more than just a man who can cook for me."

"What's that supposed to mean?''

"A personal chef could cook for me, Alfred. Don't try to tell me this"-she gestured the air around her-"is working for you, because it can't be."

"What are you talking about?"

"Us, or I should say you and me because there really is no us. Our lives are as separate as our finances are supposed to be." She picked up her napkin and dabbed at her mouth. Alfred felt a frog in his throat. He took a sip of water and held onto the cool glass.

"You can't mean that. You're just upset about me being broke again."

91 "I never should have married you, Alfred." Her voice was level. She put her napkin down.

"Hyacinth, I know you've been under a lot of stress. We both have with working so much and you always over at that church, too. What I'm trying to say is, maybe we aren't the couple we were when we dated. Or the one we planned to be when we got married. But that's something we can work on. Change." A bit of water sloshed in his glass.

"Maybe I don't love you enough to want to change things."

"Don't love me enough?" The headache that had been just below the surface of his scalp all day hammered Alfred's head. "God, Hyacinth!"

"I'm sorry, Alfred. I thought I did. I really thought I did."

He put the glass down, but his hands still shook a little. He rubbed his temples, while Hyacinth looked on, perfectly composed. Her tone had been more matter of fact than pained. She had sounded more emotional when she said grace.

"It seemed like a good idea to get married three years ago. I didn't want to live in sin, you know. I just wasn't raised like that."

He sat motionless. The ceiling fan whirred over his head. Whisper quiet.

"It's not you, it's me. I've been mulling this over a while and I think it has to do with when I was married before to Caldwell, when I was First Lady ... "

Alfred felt himself disconnecting as soon as he heard those last words.

Hyacinth's first husband, Caldwell Covington, was a big time preacher whose sermons were televised weekly. As his wife she had been considered the "first lady"

92 of his ministry. It was some designation Alfred thought on par with being a beauty pageant winner-but it had been clear from the time they met that it meant a lot to

Hyacinth.

"When Caldwell and I divorced, I felt incomplete because no one knew what to do with a former First Lady. Not even me. I didn't know who I was anymore"

"What does any of that has to do with us, Hyacinth?" When she married him she had to have known he had no aspirations for the ministry or the White House, for that matter. He couldn't give her things like that.

"When I met you I was well past that stage of not knowing. I had the choir at church, my Sous Sous group. But it had been seven lonely years and I guess I just wanted to know what it felt like to be a Mrs. Somebody again."

He wasn't buying that. Had to be more to this. And it sure as hell wasn't sex!

He knew they had no problems in that department. At least they hadn't a few days ago

"Be honest. It bothers you that most of what I make goes to support my kids.

This house is in your name. All the stuff in it belongs to you. You want someone who can give you more ... stuff."

"That's not it, Alfred. I hardly even see my "stuff' since I spend most of my time away from work at the church. Did you ever stop and think about why I do that?"

"I knew you were very spiritual when I met you. It's one of the reasons I married you. I didn't want my kids to have a stepmother who wasn't a Christian."

93 "Your kids, Alfred."

"But they love you, Hy. Paula adores you. You said you loved them, too."

"I do. But this is not about loving your children. Or your money problems. It's just ... I was happier before we married than I've been with you the last three years. I want a divorce. There, I've said it."

"A divorce?" The pressure in his head instantly increased.

"I don't want to be married anymore."

"Don't want to be ... This is my third marriage, Hy. Had I thought there would be the need for a fourth-"

"I'm sorry." She nodded and finally a few tears spilled from her eyes, making them glassy and vulnerable looking. She sniffled and the tip of her nose reddened.

"Look, we both know marriage is never easy. People who love each other try to work out their problems. We should go to counseling."

"I already went. That's how I was able to make sense of what I've been feeling."

"You already went. Without me?"

Hyacinth said yes, her voice barely audible. She cleared her throat. "For the past eight months. I know this may come as a shock. And I'm really sorry. But you know me, when I make up my mind about something-"

"Know you? No, I thought I did, but obviously I don't know you at all."

"I realize you're in a tight spot until Alfred Jr. graduates. I'm still willing to buy out your holdings in Greenlake so you'll have some cash to move with."

94 Move? Right, of course he'd have to move. Couldn't stay in this house if they were getting a divorce. But where would he go? He nodded absently. He could feel his stomach drop suddenly like an unstable elevator.

"Gregory mentioned the other day that our investment has nearly doubled. I think the fair thing to do is to split the current value with you fifty-fifty, even though we didn't exactly contribute the same amount."

So it was like that: she was going to rub in the fact that she'd bought more shares than he had. Act all magnanimous about it. Well, he wasn't taking charity from a woman who didn't want him. No, he wasn't going out like that!

"Ifthat wasn't in your immediate plans, then don't do it on my account. I don't need financial help." This directly contradicted what he'd told her a few days ago, but it was now his official position.

"Don't cut off your nose to spite your face, Alfred."

"Touche, Hy." Alfred looked down at the carcass of his hen. How could this be happening?

Hyacinth reached over the table and touched his hand. "I'm sorry, Alfred. I really am." He pushed her hand away.

"I'll move out soon as I find something," he said in a whisper ofhis usual bass.

"Take a few weeks. Or longer if you need to. There's no rush." Hyacinth's voice quivered. There was a tentative quality to it; he was sure of it.

95 "I'd prefer not to be here. Unless you want to try and work things out?" He said. An awkward silence lingered between them. After a few minutes, he got up and left the room before he embarrassed himself any further.

He spent the night in the guest room staring at the television. Not watching.

The one time he peeked into the master bedroom Hyacinth had been snoring lightly.

Alfred wished he could do the same but he had a momentous headache that no amount of Tylenol could cure. He'd lain on the double bed mentally inventorying his things.

He got up early and was out of the house at sunrise. The sky was all yellow haze. While he waited for his windshield to defog he realized the tank was on empty.

On the way out of the development a spell of emotion dazzled him. They were playing an old Babyface song he used to like, "Soon As I Get Home," on the radio. It had hit him again then. A trembling kind of pain. He shook it off.

He stopped at the gas station and got out the car. Facing full blown daylight without the benefit of tinted windows, he lost his edge. His eyes welled up again.

Nostrils filled and dribbled. Dribbled and ran down his face mixed with tears. He swiped his credit card and then waited at the pump. He wiped his face with the heels of his hands while the tank filled.

Back inside the car, he dialed his office. With his nose stuffed and his throat all constricted it had been simple to convince his secretary he had the flu. Afterwards, he called Rafael who gave him the usual advice.

96 "Man, you need to see a lawyer."

"Already went about the support. Yesterday."

"Then you're his client. Call him. I'm sure he handles divorces too."

"I'll take care of that later. Right now, I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Maybe she was just blowing off steam. You know how they get. PMS-ing."

"Nah, she was serious. We discussed my moving, man. This thing with the court orders is enough to give anyone the blues ... " He felt stupid for trying to explain

Hyacinth's motivation. Even if it was the money, what did it matter? She didn't want him. He was getting choked up again. He gulped the stale car air.

"You need somewhere to go; you know you can move back in with me. Same rules as before. Your kids can only stay over the nights mine don't," Rafael said.

"Thanks, man."

"But don't play Perry Mason for this one, Alfred. Talk to the lawyer again."

He drank weak coffee at Denny's until he was sure Hyacinth had left for work. At ten o'clock he drove home. Packing his clothes took all of three hours. What did not fit in his luggage, he tossed in lawn bags. There were other things, his electronic equipment, and his father's old roll top desk, for example, but he knew

Rafael didn't have room for them. He'd arrange to have them moved into storage when he got paid.

For a long moment before he began to load his things, he wondered if he was being impulsive. If he stuck around a little longer, would it make any difference?

Would Hyacinth change her mind? When things had been on the rocks between him

97 and Mrs. MacGregor II, they'd done the counseling, even tried mediation before she

finally sued him for divorce. He and the first Mrs. MacGregor had known they

weren't companionable after their third year of marriage. But for the sake of AJ

they'd stuck it out six more years, like people trying to set a world record for

something stupid. She had fallen out of love with him too. When a woman says she

doesn't love you enough, it's time to leave.

Thinking about the demise of his previous marriages reminded him to call

Banks. The lawyer took five minutes explaining his best option was a simplified

divorce since he and Hyacinth were childless. All they would have to do is agree

about the division of their assets. That wouldn't be a problem since Alfred had

virtually none. He went on the county website Banks' mentioned and confirmed this

would cost under $300. Then he wrote a note to Hyacinth explaining the procedure.

They had to file the paperwork together and he was available to do so at anytime.

Afterwards, he unplugged his laptop from the phone line in their home office.

He guessed it was Hyacinth's office now though he realized it always had been. He

always thought this house would become his real home when he could put his mark

on it. The only thing he'd put his mark on, though, was the non-stick Calphalon

cookware he'd inadvertently scrubbed with Brillo.

The phone was ringing when he got back from loading the first of his things.

It was the bank, informing him he was over the limit on his MasterCard. Just a friendly reminder, the lady had said. Her voice had been downright pleasant as if she

98 was telling him he'd just won a Ferrari. He had a Visa from another bank, and a

Discover, too. He made a mental note to use one of them until he got paid again.

He paused at the phone after he hung up. He didn't even know if he had credit available on the other cards. And he'd mailed the check to Tanjia already, so he was flat broke. Refusing Hyacinth's offer to buy out his share of Greenlake had been a stupid decision born out of his obstinacy. He could see that now. As usual, his pride had been a heavier consideration than his reality. But that had all changed now, hadn't it? He grabbed a Post it and penciled another note telling her he would take half of the account value. She or Gregory could send the money to him in care of his office.

He locked the house and went out to the garage. The sight of his car filled with his meager things overwhelmed him for a moment. He slammed the trunk closed. Seemed all his adult life had been spent moving from woman to woman with it always ending up like this. Him standing near an over-packed vehicle preparing to drive away from what was once home. He had enough of it.

I am just not cut out for marriage, he decided as he slumped onto the driver's seat of his Maxima. No real reason to do it again since he really couldn't afford any more children. In fact, a vasectomy wasn't a bad idea, either. He would schedule one as soon as he got settled. No more wives. No more kids. And after this one, no more divorces.

99 "Now that's a plan," he said to himself and chuckled bitterly. But he was surprised to find the idea of spending the rest of his life without a wife didn't depress him; nor did the idea of not having any more children.

He sat up straighter and started the car. "No matter who she is or what the circumstances, I will not do it again," he said. He carefully backed out of the garage and deliberately kept his focus on the road ahead of him as he drove away.

100 Cash Money

There are ways to getting around having a bank account; Gretchen Baylor had learned them. Her paycheck was cashed at Winn Dixie, where she worked as an assistant manager. She bought money orders there as well, for things like rent and utilities. Everything else; cash. Gretchen didn't have anything against banks, but she did have a lingering fear that having an account might cause problems because of something she'd done a long time ago. Fifteen years had passed since that time and she'd managed quite well using cash alone. Until today.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Baylor." The office girl seemed sincere as she rejected the crisp twenty Gretchen had given her. "The new policy went into effect after New

Year's."

"Well, what am I supposed to do?"

"I can take Visa or Mastercard or you can write a check."

Gretchen leaned forward and hoped no one could hear her. "I don't have a credit card or a checking account," she said. Immediately the pain started up again.

Her back had been bothering her for months now. Ever since her mother sent word she wasn't doing well. After aspirin, ibuprofen and Epsom salt baths didn't work, she'd waited three weeks for an appointment with her primary care physician who referred her to this orthopedic man whose office she was now at-after a two-month wait. "Can't I just pay later?"

The girl shook her head no and pointed towards the wall. When Gretchen arrived at the doctor's office, the first thing she'd seen was that all the seats were full

101 and dozens of people, mostly older, were waiting. Next she'd seen the sign on the bathroom door that said, "Out of Order." She hadn't noticed the one the girl now pointed to:

For your convenience, payment must be received before services are rendered We do not accept cash.

Gretchen couldn't believe it. For whom was it convenient? And what was wrong with cash money all of a sudden? Far as she knew it was still legal tender and damn it these people were going to take hers.

"There must be some way we can work this out," she said, making sure to keep her voice level as if she were dealing with a difficult customer at the supermarket.

"You can pay by credit card or check or you can reschedule," the girl said.

She was dressed in a peach scrubs, but she looked too young to be a nurse. Gretchen stayed put. She had to see this doctor today.

"Excuse me," an older woman behind the counter said. She had on blue scrubs. "Is the computer up yet?" She asked the girl in peach, who shook her head no.

Then the woman in blue tossed her long red mane back, looked out of the opening at the counter and said, "Jane Franklin."

Gretchen watched while a blonde girl, whose right leg was wrapped in a dingy cast, was beckoned through the double doors to the physician's office. A boy with a head full of short dreadlocks put down Sports Illustrated and followed, leaving another empty seat.

102 "You know, I just remembered. I have a blank money order in my glove compartment," Gretchen quickly lied. There was nothing in her glove compartment but a flashlight, emergency flares, and the money Hyacinth had given her this morning.

"A blank money order?"

"Well, it's for thirty dollars, but the payee isn't filled out." Gretchen ruled out offering further explanation. She knew from years of practice that the less she said the better.

"You realize we can't make change."

"The rest can be a credit for next time," she said although she prayed she would not have to come back here.

The girl seemed satisfied. "All right, then." She handed over more forms for

Gretchen to complete. "Bring it with you after you fill these out."

Judging from the crowd in the waiting room, it would take all morning to be seen. Gretchen decided she'd go to the post office after completing the forms, since she needed to send Mama's money anyway. While she was there she would get these people their co-payment. For the exact twenty-five dollar amount too. After all today's date would automatically appear on it. She didn't care whether the girl noticed. You can pay by credit card or check or you can reschedule. Who did these people think they were?

She took the open seat near the aisle and began to fill the forms out.

103 "I couldn't help but overhear," an elderly black woman said. Her wheelchair was right next to Gretchen's seat. "And I hope you don't mind my asking, but how do you manage without a checking account?"

Gretchen peered over her glasses at the woman. She had snowy white hair and eyebrows and a barely lined brown face. "I manage," she said. She resumed filling out the forms.

"But how do you put anything away for your future?" The lady leaned closer, lines appearing on her forehead. "Never know what's ahead. Just like I didn't see this hip replacement coming." She pointed to her pelvis, but there was no way for

Gretchen to see what she meant. What Gretchen saw in the old woman's face was the faded regal beauty of her grandmother, as she was fifteen years ago when Gretchen had last seen her in Midtown. She'd passed away almost eight years ago. Right after

Daddy.

"Oh, I haven't ignored my future."

But hadn't she? One ofthe disadvantages of not having a bank account was that she had nowhere to save. Three years ago, she'd joined Hyacinth's Hand for this very reason. Once a month, she turned over $250 to her. Once a year when she got her money back, she mailed half of it to her mother to help with Jennifer's expenses.

She put the other half into a safe built into the floor of her living room. It was hidden under the carpet. If she ever needed to leave town right away again, she'd have something to take with her. But that was all she would ever have.

104 That thought brought her back to reality. Of course she'd ignored her future­ the same way she ignored the fact that a man was dead because of her. That her mother would likely die without ever seeing her again. And there would be no one left to care for Jennifer. Who was she fooling? The pain in her back was just the outward manifestation of a larger problem.

The old woman shifted in her wheelchair. "Sure is a long wait, isn't it? Which doctor you here to see?"

"Brandt." Gretchen looked at her referral form. "Yes, I think that's how you pronounce it."

"Don't know him. I have Dr. Z. He's a good man. But sl-ow," she made the short word a song. "Even kept me waiting for my surgery: Two whole hours. Hospital was cold as a witch's tit. I declare. I was so cold in that thing what they made me put on." She leaned towards Gretchen and whispered: "There was a great big ole draft in the back ... " Her dark eyes were lit up in memory. Going into the hospital must have been the most exciting thing to happen to the woman in ages.

Gretchen smiled. The old lady was as talkative as Granny had been. Reminded her of sitting on the porch back home on a cool summer evening and shooting the breeze with anyone who passed by. The memory gave her a melancholy feeling.

"I'd better go to my car. Get that money order," she said.

"Between me and you," the woman leaned towards her and whispered. "Do you really have a money order in your car?''

105 Gretchen shook her head no. She whispered back: "But, from the looks of this waiting room, I figure I have time to run and go get one. And then some."

The old woman laughed. "You're a nice girl. Seem smart too." She took

Gretchen's left hand in her bony grasp. "Whatever you've done, you can make it right, you know."

"What?"

"You heard me," she said. "I can read people. Always have been a good judge of character. You're hiding something and it's stealing the life you could have." She patted Gretchen's hand and then released it. A sage expression colored her youthful face.

Gretchen feigned amusement and smiled. "You're wrong. Ma'am," she remembered her manners. "I'd better go, now." She stood quickly, straining her back but this time not noticing the pain because of the sudden tightness in her chest. She didn't realize she'd brought the clipboard of forms with her until she was already outside.

In her car she thought about what the woman had said. The words reminded her ofPastor Brown's sermons about people falling short. She was definitely in that category. Greed might not have been keeping her from the life she could have, but her past certainly was.

She unlocked her glove compartment and took out the money she planned to send home. Then she swallowed the lump in her throat, and started the car.

106 Fifteen years was a long time. She hadn't seen Jennifer's first tooth or her first steps and now she was practically grown. She'd been a paper mother. Her mother had had to bury Daddy and Granny without her. And now Mama was ill as well and struggling alone to raise her granddaughter. Despite the money she sent to help, she'd been a paper daughter, too.

The short drive to the Post Office gave her time to recover her composure.

She went inside and requested the money orders. When they asked for identification she handed over her well-worn driver's license; the one that should have read Mabel

Smith. But her hand trembled as she wrote Gretchen Baylor on the form. It was still shaking when she folded the receipt and placed it in her purse.

After the transaction was complete and she'd walked away from the register she stopped at a counter near the doorway and took out the receipt just to make sure which name she had written. She had put the right one. But she couldn't even breathe a sigh of relief. A burning pain danced down her spine, making her neck and shoulders stiffen. The practiced demeanor that had sustained her all the while she'd been down here had quickly evaporated. She felt more like the woman she'd spent years trying to put in the past than the one she thought she'd become.

Back in her car, she thought of who might be able to help her make it right.

She knew that several lawyers belonged to her church. Perhaps one of them could help her tum herself in. That was the only way to get the ball rolling. She'd call

Pastor Brown and ask right after her appointment. Once the law was involved, the closest she would be able to get to Mama and Jennifer was likely the penitentiary

107 upstate. But at least she would get to see them. She was surprised to find just the thought of that helped her shoulders loosen instead of filling her with fear. She breathed easier as she drove back to the doctor's office.

The waiting room was still full, but the old woman was no longer seated.

Gretchen realized she had expected to see her again. She certainly wanted to. It may have been silly. The woman had only showed her what she'd always known deep down: that you could run away and hide from everything but yourself. But speaking with her again seemed to be an important step in reclaiming the life cash money had helped her evade.

At the front desk, she handed over the money order and clipboard of forms and then asked the girl in peach, "There was an old woman I was sitting next to. I think she was here about her hip. Is she still here?''

"I'm sorry, I didn't see her, but-"

"The white haired black lady?" the woman in blue behind the desk asked.

"Kind of young face?''

"Yes. Is she back with the doctor?"

"She was already seen. The van came to get her."

"Oh." Gretchen told herself it didn't matter. Meeting the woman had still been a blessing.

''I'm really sorry," the girl in peach said. She handed Gretchen back the money order. "When the computer came up, I realized we couldn't find your name on

108 Dr. Brandt's appointment roster. Turns out you were scheduled to come in yesterday,

January 15th, not today." She smiled sympathetically.

"What?" Gretchen took out her referral and looked at it. What had appeared to

be a six every other time she'd checked the card now definitely looked like a five.

How had she misread the date she'd written down? All these years she had been

wearing glasses only to camouflage her appearance. Maybe she really needed them to

see now.

"You'll have to reschedule, but unfortunately the computer's down again. Call this afternoon and we'll see when we can fit you in," the girl said.

"Yes," Gretchen said absently. "Yes, I'll call later." But she had no intention

of doing so because her pain was already receding. It was moving from the small of her back and from deep within the chambers of her heart.

109 Breadwinner

"Are you sure it was Darla?" Gregory asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

Darla was his little, well, that word wasn't appropriate anymore-but she was still his prized baby girl: the perfect replica ofFrances circa the late 1980s. He wasn't pleased at what he was hearing about her right now, though. His baby girl smoking?

"I wouldn't have mentioned it ifl wasn't absolutely sure," Hyacinth said. She put her nightgown back on as if her nudity might renew his vigor. Before her revelation-which had been prompted by his attempt at a joke after they made love:

"I feel like a cigarette"-he had already been one stroke away from needing Viagra for round two. Now his heart wasn't in being with her again, much less other parts of his body.

"I just thought you should know."

"Of course. Damnit!"

"No use over reacting. It's probably just a phase she's going through,"

Hyacinth said, her voice containing an edge of concern.

"No better out here in Weston than the ghetto. All these years of-working-to­ give her the best of everything so she wouldn't have it hard like I did. Moved her to this exclusive neighborhood but boys out here look just like thugs in the ghetto. Even the white ones ....

110 "Clothes she wears make her look like a little tramp. Uniforms shorter than that nightgown you have on. Now she's smoking. Next it'll be ... tried to tell-" When they'd started this affair the rule was they were never to discuss Frances or Alfred.

He rubbed Hyacinth's leg just below the white silk. It felt as smooth as a transparency. Frances still wore nice gowns like this but it just wasn't the same.

"I gotta go."

"I know." She leaned over and kissed him. He squeezed her soft little hand, and knew she felt his strength.

Gregory put his workout clothes back on, took the back way out of the development, and drove to The Fit Male. On the way there he tried calling Frances at home. No answer. Probably out shopping, since that was what she seemed to do all day. Gregory hadn't always minded that. In the early years she'd worked hard getting him through law school. More recently she'd helped him save enough to go into business for himself. When they no longer needed her income, he'd insisted she quit work and just concentrate on him and Darla. That had been three years ago. Last year she had finally done it.

But lately he regretted forcing her to become a homemaker. She had lost her sizzle since. Everything was food and shopping. Sex was out of the question. She said the operation had cured her of that desire. Too bad it didn't do anything for his.

On at least one occasion she'd implied she could look the other way, as long as he was discreet and careful. But he knew when she said that she hadn't meant for him to take one of her friends as a lover.

111 At the gym, he set the bike for thirty minutes, and went through the paces

although he felt more like sleeping. Now that he was close to his college playing

weight he knew he couldn't afford to slack off The combination of his low

carbohydrate diet and exercise had brought some of his youth back. He wanted to

linger in it long as he could.

He pumped his legs and looked around him. The three televisions bolted to the

wall were tuned to ESPN. Some kind ofgolftournament was on. A wiry, thick­

necked kid was helping a flabby older man set the timer on a bike adjacent to the free

weight area. Another thick-necked kid was doing arm curls in front of the mirrored

wall. Place was pretty quiet this time of day, just as he liked it. And not at all smelly

like the workout factory he used to belong to. Purchasing a membership at this club

instead of letting Frances go through with her plans to convert one of the upstairs

bedrooms to a home gym had been the smartest thing he'd done-well, next to

pulling out of the stock market early on in 2000 and shifting his investments to real

estate. The former decision gave him another excuse to leave the house and a reason

to shower as soon as he got home. The latter had meant if Darla just did what she was

supposed to do, he could still give her all the extras he hadn't had.

But she was smoking. Why did kids do such stupid things? He had done his job to provide for her. It was Frances's job to make sure Darla didn't fall into these

teenage traps like trying everything from cigarettes to alcohol and pot, like kids did

when he was growing up. Maybe the average American kid still experimented, but his

ll2 baby girl wasn't average and he damned sure didn't want her behaving as such. She had a job to do and it did not include becoming a statistic.

He got off the bike and headed to the weight lifting area. Wiped off the shiny black seat with his towel and sat at the crunch machine. He set the weight level at eighty and started the first of set of fifteen repetitions the trainer had suggested. As he worked his abs, reminding himself to breathe in and out as he negotiated the weights, he tried to convince himself Hyacinth had been wrong. But she was so sure it was

Darla she had seen. And she'd recognized Darla's friend, Clara, too. Had given him all the information he needed to confront his daughter. But how could he explain having come by it?

On the way home, he decided he'd tell Frances what he knew and let her handle it. After all, Darla was her full-time job now. He tried to work on an approach.

"I ran into Hyacinth at the where ... " Where did he go when Frances did everything for him? "I ran into Hyacinth at the gas station," he gauged the sincerity of his appearance in the rear view window of his car while stopped at a light. His brown eyes wandered and his face reddened as he spoke. He knew he looked guilty. But with his eyes having that look of mock innocence, he also looked about thirty years old, for some reason. It was his first time noticing that lying took years off of his still youthful,, face. He snorted a few times, but then remembered why he'd been pra~icing. It wasn't going to work, he decided as the light changed. He just wasn't as

113 good at lying as Frances was at detecting dishonesty. How was he going to alert her to Darla's smoking without arousing suspicion?

Gregory was home before he knew it. He pressed the clicker and drove into the opening garage. Frances' car was parked on the left-hand side. As the garage door lowered, she came through the side door of the house and took two bags out of the trunk. More food. Just what they needed, he thought as he got out of his car. He kissed her cheek.

Frances made a sniffing noise and turned away from him. "You come from the gym?"

"Yes." He looked her right in her dark brown eyes. Thank God he'd actually gone this time. "I know, I'm pretty funky," he said. They went inside the house. He opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of Crystal Springs. Frances handed him a bag of carrots and a plastic container of olives to put away and resumed unloading the rest of the groceries.

"Darla needs a ride home from a game. I'll get her while you shower.

Remember, we have dinner tonight with the McMillans."

"Right," In her salmon colored pants suit, Frances looked as if she were already dressed to go. But there was no telling if that was the case since she was known to change clothes several times a day. "We're not going anywhere fancy?"

"No," she said. "But that doesn't mean you have to wear jeans."

114 In the shower he devised a strategy. While they drove to the restaurant, he'd say he heard on the radio that all teenagers try smoking by age sixteen. Plant the idea that Darla should be questioned and tell Frances to handle it.

The phone rang while he was toweling off. He grabbed the cordless. It was

Frank. Jill was stuck at the hospital doing an emergency C-section. They had to cancel.

He dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. Frances came into the bedroom while he was putting on socks. She stepped over the sneakers he'd left in the middle ofthe floor.

"I just got off the phone with Frank. Jill-"

"I know. She called me in my car. Shall I order in or should we go out?

Darla's eating at Clara's."

Her co-conspirator. Would they smoke after they ate?

"You talk to Clara's mother?"

Frances shrugged. "Well, I-"

"Reason I wanted you to quit work was to watch her."

"Is something wrong?"

He tried to slow down his speech. He knew he had a tendency to run his words together or leave things out when he felt stressed. And if he seemed panicked she'd know something was wrong.

"I just don't want her getting in the habit of announcing what she's doing and making you her personal chauffeur."

115 "Well, there you go. Won't be a problem when she gets the Jeep she wants."

"A car is a responsibility that must be earned, Frances."

"Gregory, she's been on the Honor Roll since she was practically in Pull Ups.

When most kids are at the mall, she's volunteering with the Food Bank I tell all my friends how lucky I am to have such a daughter."

"All I'm saying is we can't assume she's always telling us the truth."

"The truth about what, Gregory?"

"About ... " He paused to try to come up with a smooth answer. "About anything."

"I trust my daughter."

"Trust but verify," he said. Frances cracked up.

"I think the absence of carbohydrates in your diet is adversely affecting your mental health," she said. Now that he was getting fit, and she wasn't, he suspected she envied him. He would have preferred she join him, but there was a greater likelihood that she would suddenly become interested in sex again than that happening.

"Tell her no," he said. "The three ofus'll go to Outback."

Darla didn't smell like tobacco or act suspicious as they drove to dinner.

Didn't even complain about the change in plans. She was his sweet little dear. Same as when she used to beg him to take her to his office instead of going to Frances's on

Take Your Daughter to Work Day. Tonight she was even dressed appropriately in a cotton shirt and a knee length denim skirt that didn't flex with her every move.

116 Gregory thought spandex was too sensual for teenaged girls. He was glad Frances had finally listened to him and found clothes made of regular fabric.

They all ordered ice tea and then perused their menus. Gregory knew he wanted the ribeye with a spinach salad, no croutons, so he closed his and watched

Darla's face. Her lips were moving as she read over the choices. Just like her mother.

It tickled him that she had so many of Frances's mannerisms.

"How was school today?"

"Fine, Daddy. I had my presentation on the greenhouse effect in earth science." She bobbed her head triumphantly.

"So it went well?"

"Yeah, it went fine."

"A-fine? You know Harvard needs you."

"Aw, Daddy!"

"Yes, Daddy. I don't see anything wrong with Spelman," Frances said. She put a hand on her hip and gently elbowed him.

"Darla will attend Harvard. She can teach at Spelman after she retires from

NASA-"

"And cures AIDS, cancer, and diabetes."

"Mommy!"

"Not necessarily in that order, dear," Frances said.

"Of course not," Darla said. "First I'm going to be the youngest ever

President." Her even tone pleased Gregory.

117 "You know, none of my friends who have children did as well as we did,

Gregory. I should say, none of their kids has done as well as you have, Darla. We're so proud-"

"What your mother means to say is now is not the time to falter," Gregory said.

"Remind me what alcohol you're allowed on that diet?" Frances said.

"Gin, no, vodka, I think. Why?"

Frances summoned the waiter and ordered Gregory a Grey Goose on the rocks. "As the young folks say, you need to chill."

Dinner was nice, but Gregory still hadn't learned anything about what Darla was doing. If she was smoking, what else? Sex?

God! His heart seemed to stop for a moment. She was too young. The thought of one of those boys like that pea head Jahim down the block with his doo doo knots touching his daughter made him sick. Boys were dogs, just like back in the day. They just barked louder. Before he met Frances, he used to--what was he thinking before he met Frances?

Bed was the usual. Frances managed to look appealing in a short beige gown that showed off her Lola Falana legs. But a peck on the mouth and she was reading.

He glanced at the title: Their Eyes Were Watching God.

The research he'd done for Gretchen Baylor-or was he supposed to call her

Mabel now-was complete. He only needed to write a report. But he was truly tired,

118 and he'd already told her it would be better if she had a criminal lawyer handle her case. Preferably one in Georgia. He'd do it tomorrow.

The next morning Frances was already making breakfast when he got up. He showered, dressed and then went downstairs. He would be going into the office today.

A few minutes later, Darla joined them in the kitchen. She looked almost collegiate in faded blue jeans and a button down shirt that was just a bit too tight. He smiled, and then imagined her with a cigarette between her lips. His stomach lurched and the eggs and bacon in front of him were suddenly unappealing.

"Mom, do I have to take the bus this morning or are you going to drive me?"

Gregory saw his opportunity to question her further. "I'm going into the office today. I can take you."

"You'll have time for breakfast, then." Frances put out cereal and milk for

Darla.

Gregory finished his food and went upstairs to get his suit jacket. As he was on his way down, Darla called up to him.

"Could you get my book bag, Daddy? I think it's on the floor by my bed."

He went inside his daughter's bedroom. It was a fuchsia pink. When he'd gotten out of the stock market, Frances recommended he consult Hyacinth about the best way to invest the money. He'd been reluctant at first, but she convinced him what good a money manager Hyacinth was. When she'd proven to be right, he'd given her carte blanche to redecorate the house.

119 Darla's room was one of the results. Everything was color coordinated and

custom from the quilted queen headboard to the faux leopard black and fuchsia rug. It was a room fit for a princess. And he had made it all possible.

Now, as he picked up the purple knapsack, he knew he not only had an

opportunity to go through it, but the right.

A box pack of Virginia Slims Menthol cigarettes were in the zippered side

pouch. The pungent smell disgusted him. He opened the box and counted: eighteen

left. A quick look at the box and he knew two were missing.

Downstairs, he confronted Darla.

"These fell out of your bag," he put the pack on the table next to the vitamins

she'd forgotten to take. "Would you care to explain how they got there?"

"Darla, please tell me you're not smoking," Frances said. The concerned look

on her face satisfied Gregory that he'd been right to search Darla's bag.

"It was only one. I swear. Clara and I wanted to try them and so she, uh, snuck

a pack from her mother. She was supposed to sneak it back. I didn't even know I had them."

"Smoking can kill you," Frances said. "Why would you want to-"

"I'll handle this," Gregory said. He would do the job she hadn't.

"For some actions in life there are repercussions, Darla. And for smoking, you're going to face some. For one, no driving your mother's car for three months."

"But it was only one cigarette, Daddy. I didn't even inhale!"

120 "And the car we talked about, the jeep. You' 11 have to wait three more months for it. Consecutive with the cigarette punishment." He noticed Frances's expression change from concern to astonishment, but she kept quiet the way she was supposed to.

"Daddy, I promise I won't do it again." Tears dripped down his baby girl's lovely face. He was sorry but she had brought them on herself Forced him to teach her that her actions had consequences.

"Go wash your face and I'll take you to school," he said.

Darla left the room, still in tears.

"Gregory, you don't really mean to punish her for six months?" Frances's face was lined with stress but Gregory felt calm and assured of his success. Darla would remember this discipline for a long time. That would be enough to save her from future mistakes. In fact one day she would be thanking him for being so hard on her.

"If we don't teach her about consequences, we will have failed her as parents," he said. Though he was tempted to, he didn't bother to remind Frances that this might not have happened if she'd stayed on top of things like she was supposed to.

Frances picked up the cigarettes and counted them. "Only two are missing."

"Doesn't matter how many she smoked but that she smoked at all."

She threw the pack into the trash can. "I still think you are being too harsh,

Gregory. We should have talked this over together first. I ought to have some say."

121 "I've already handled it," Gregory said. Why would he need to consult her?

Now that he was breadwinner, he had absolute authority over everything.

He returned to the table and picked up his coffee cup. "Microwave this for me, please," he said, handing it to her. "And ifthere's any left, put it in my thermos so I can take it to work."

Frances poured the cup out in the sink, refilled it with fresh coffee and handed it to Gregory. He sat drinking the fresh cup and reading the business section while she brewed another pot. When it was done she filled Gregory's thermos and set it in front of him. He looked down at his watch. "I'm going upstairs to check on Darla now,"

Frances said.

"No rush," he said. "But it would be nice if she was ready soon." He put the business section aside to look for the sports pages, nearly knocking over the thermos.

The upper half of the container was shiny and corrugated and as he righted it his face reflected back at him in six different places. Every one of the miniature images was exactly the same: him in a white shirt and a blue tie seated at a table. Nothing more.

But after he finished his cup, he transferred the coffee to a travel mug, and then put the thermos in the sink.

122 Love for Sale

The first thing Janis did after she got dressed Sunday morning was to shake

Clara awake. They had gotten in late the night before and she wanted to make sure

she was ready on time. Once her daughter was up, albeit whining "I'm too ti-rred" every damn minute, Janis went into the kitchen. Her favorite part of the house. It was a sunny spot with a big picture window above the double sink. Quiet, too. Except for the scalloped shaped shade that was flapping like lips talking. Janis yanked the cord until it rolled all the way up and enjoyed the warm sunlight while she fixed breakfast and a pot of tea.

She'd had one cup and a bran muffin when the quiet began to concern her.

She went back to her daughter's room. The door she'd left open was closed. Upon opening it again she found Clara still ensconced under the pink satin sheets she just had to have for the sake of her hair, which was presently French Refined. Last month it had been Spanish Wavy. (All that so-called human hair had cost Janis $120.)

"Clara, I told you to get up already," she said.

Clara opened her eyes and frowned. "Go away." She pulled the covers over her head.

"Have you lost your mind? You better get your black ass up!" Janis used the crook of her cane to pull back the slippery sheets. It took two tries before Clara sat up a little. "Now, I said!" Clara's chocolate brown legs finally came from under the covers and Janis saw her flat feet, with those awful acrylic toenails-the girl hadn't even asked permission-finally touching the floor.

123 "I don't want to go to church today, Ma. I'm too ti-rred."

"You have exactly fifteen minutes to get your behind up and dressed," Janis said. Using the cane, she pointed to the clothes she'd already selected to save time. A navy blue dress hanging from a bracket on the closet door. Black patent leather shoes on the floor underneath it. She'd left a pack of Sheer Energy on top of Clara's lingerie dresser too, hoping the child would take the hint. Janis had feared letting her go to that party last night was a bad idea. Not just because Clara was technically still under punishment for smoking Janis's cigarettes; but because Sunday mornings were always a struggle.

"You know I hate those shoes," Clara said and finally stood, rubbing her eyes.

"We're going to have to stop at Starbucks on the way so I can get a Frappuccino."

"I told you we gave up Starbucks for Lent."

"Right, Lent. Which is what, Ma? Only a month away? Besides if you can still smoke, I don't see why I should have to give up my Frappuccinos," Clara said. From her arrogant tone you would think she'd been spending four dollars a day on coffee all her life.

"I told you we are not buying any more of those drinks," Janis said.

"If you don't want to go there for Lent or whatever that's one thing, but why does it have to affect me? All my friends go there everyday. And I-"

"If all your friends jumped off the Seventeenth Street Causeway, would you jump too? And don't tell me you need coffee because you're tired. You begged me to let you stay at that party til one. And I told you then like I told you a long time ago; if

124 you go to a party on a Saturday night you still have to go to church Sunday. But every time you go to one it's the same whining about being tired. Well, you made the decision, Clara. And coffee has nothing to do with it. But since you put it that way, let me make myself clear: the reason we didn't wait until Lent to give it up is because

Starbucks is not going to be a part of our daily routine anymore. Period!"

"It'll be your fault when I sleep through service every Sunday!" Clara spat out the words and a lot of teeth sucking as she walked past Janis towards her bathroom and then slammed the door right in her face. Janis rubbed her temples. It was bad enough that she'd caught Clara kissing that boy right on the mouth last night, but now this attitude? She couldn't have been this brazen when she was Clara's age. Her mother would not have let her live to see seventeen. Why couldn't she have had a son? There was so much more crap dealing with a daughter.

For the second time in as many days she felt mad as a rabid pit bull. Eight hours had passed since her last cigarette and she was tempted to light one up right then. But on Sundays she never smoked until after service. So she took several deep breaths and told herself she would not give in. Then she went to her bathroom to brush her teeth again.

She counted the next half-hour in her head-biting her lips while she waited.

She'd done everything but bathe the girl and put the clothes on for her. What was taking her so long? Of course Clara hadn't had a problem getting ready for what's her face's Sweet Sixteen last night. It started at nine so she'd been ready by seven-thirty.

Janis hadn't even had to lay out clothes. They'd left the house at exactly eight-thirty.

125 Janis needed a refill on her back medicine and had stopped at the drive-through pharmacy. It was on the way. "Why're you stopping, Ma. We don't have ti-ime,"

Clara had said. Like it hadn't occurred to her that if her mother was in discomfort she might not be able to drive her silly ass to a damn party. It probably hadn't occurred to her, Janis thought now.

She poured more tea and finally heard Clara's footsteps.

"Ma, what's for breakfast?"

"Why the hell aren't you dressed?" Janice was as stunned as if the fuzzy pink bunnies on her daughter's house slippers were alive and hopping through her kitchen.

"Because I'm hungry." Clara pulled her robe tighter. She'd curled her hair, but that was all the progress Janis could see. "I haveta eat something first."

"If you don't go back to your room and get dressed right this minute-"Janis raised her cane like a cat-o-nine tails. Clara hopped back to her room. While Clara got dressed Janis reheated her favorite sausage and eggs "Great Starts" breakfast, sealed it in a plastic container and poured orange juice into a travel mug for Clara to have on the way to church.

When they walked into the sanctuary Hyacinth was leading the choir's rendition of"No Ways Tired." In the rush to get to church, Janis's cane had gotten stuck between the front and back seats ofher van. To save time she'd gone inside the building without it. Only an hour late, she walked to their usual pew and sank into its foam cushion. Clara sat right next to her. Janis set her purse on the floor and thumbed

126 through the bulletin. A few people in the sanctuary were on their feet, clapping hands and singing along with the choir. I don't believe he brought me this far to leave me.

There was a Bible lesson after that, maybe from Daniel. Another hymn-Janis stood, but didn't sing-and then Pastor Brown read the gospel lesson. She turned her Bible to Matthew as he instructed. Instead of grabbing a pew Bible, Clara moved a foot or more away from her. The next thing Janis knew he was in the pulpit praying: "May the words ofmy mouth ... "

She listened as he preached but Clara's words were the ones she was hearing:

"My Frappuccino," "Dang," and her favorite, "too ti-rred." She couldn't get the girl's attitude off of her mind, either. There was a time they had been close as sister friends.

But something had changed since Janis had gotten the money. It wasn't any one thing she could put her finger on. The smoking was more a teenage stunt that she would have tried regardless of their recent move to Bonaventure than a symptom of the change. The same could be said of her obsession with Darla Jones's things. Lately she never came home without something that belonged to her friend, like the Louis what's-his-name purse she'd had since Friday. Clara had always craved a close relationship with Darla. Thought the girl's gas didn't stink even in the days neither

Darla nor her bourgeois wannabe mother Frances would give either of them the time of day. Still, much as Janis didn't want to admit it, Darla wasn't a symptom of the change either.

127 '" ... No one can be a slave to two masters; he will hate one and love the other; he will be loyal to one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money. '

That's what Jesus tells us in Matthew ... "

She suspected it had to do with the lifestyle the settlement now afforded them.

Like the brand new house they owned. It replaced the barred windowed two-bedroom apartment they'd had in a neighborhood some might consider fledgling. Okay, most would consider the apartment they'd had across the street from a strip club and a bail bondsman's office pure ghetto. Their new home was set back from the street traffic, the next to last rancher on a cul-de-sac, no less. Not that they were wealthy now, mind you. Hyacinth had been careful to describe the money as just enough to keep them comfortable if Janis managed carefully. Still, ever since Pastor Brown's appeal last month Janis had been in virtual terror that the bling bling might be weighing them down, although at the time she hadn't been sure what it was. But she thought she knew now. It was all the extras they had only dreamed about before the accident, like perfect nails and fancy coffee drinks. The things Clara now thought were entitlements.

'" ... Watch out and guard yourselves from all kinds ofgreed; because a man's true life is not made up ofthings he owns, no matter how rich he may be. ' This means whether you own a Hyundai, or a Honda, an Escort, or an Escalade, that is not ... "

She shifted in her pew, eager to stand up. The whole while Pastor Brown had been preaching her legs felt like she could feel the pins that were in them. Oh, how the man loved the sound of his own voice! Janis enjoyed listening to The Word, but

128 enough was enough. Judging by Pastor's frenzied pace he would be winding down

soon. She knew what would come next. She leaned forward to get her pocketbook, which during the service had somehow meandered closer to Clara's reach. Her torso resisted like a thick rubber band being pulled to its limits. She guessed this was the

pain and suffering Brother Griffin had gotten her compensated for after that eighteen­ wheeler going fifty in a twenty-five mile-an-hour zone had crashed into the school

bus she was driving. Thank God no children had been on board with her. She still

couldn't get over the fact that she lived better off of disability and the settlement than

she had on her salary when driving a bus full of children of the com everyday had been its own form of pain and suffering.

The money didn't feel like much compensation times like this when she couldn't do something simple. She should have made Clara take the time to dislodge her cane since she was the one who got it stuck in the first place. Before the accident it would have been no problem to bend over far enough. But even after more than a year of rehab her body was still so stiff when she sat this long, that all she could do was lean over sufficiently to get a whiff of her daughter's musty feet.

"Hand me my purse," she whispered to Clara. The girl didn't respond. Were her eyes even open? Janis listened for snores between Pastor Brown's singsong words. Thankfully, she couldn't hear any, but she was certain Clara's eyes were closed. She nudged her side-hard. Clara finally stirred. "I wasn't asleep," she mumbled. There was saliva at the comer of her mouth. "Hand me my purse," Janis said again. Clara yawned, then reached down and grabbed the handbag. She handed it

129 to Janis, who promptly took out her offering envelope. She found some tissues and handed them to Clara. "Wipe your mouth," she said, barely hiding her disgust. Before

Janis closed her purse she caught a whiff of tobacco and menthol. The aromatic rush aroused her mouth and nostrils. Her bowels clenched with desire. She was jonesing for one. Just one. Her cigarettes were waiting in the glove compartment of the van. As soon as service was over, she would have it. No, on second thought at least two. After the past twelve hours she deserved to.

"Let us now receive our tithes and offerings," Pastor Brown said. Finally!

Janis forgot her urge to smoke and sat up straighter. While the ushers headed up to the altar, he mentioned the church still had a long way to go towards growing the building fund. They hadn't reached last year's goal and were already behind this year's. "Look around you, my brothers and sisters ... " His voice was thunder. Janis didn't have to look to know what she would see: Too worn upholstery and carpet in shades of orange and green that had been past their prime when she was Clara's age.

The building used to be a supermarket when she was a girl and still had a boxy shape.

There were plain glass windows up front that even provided a lovely view of the parking lot. Janis found that distracting so, even before the accident, she always sat in this pew near the back of the sanctuary, which she still considered to be the produce section.

"We need a bigger and better facility in order to properly serve our community. Yet, we are still falling short in this congregation," Pastor Brown said.

His eyes seemed to be right on Janis. Did he somehow know about the settlement?

130 She thought lawyers were obligated to keep these things confidential, but even if

Brother Griffin hadn't said anything to Pastor, could he have figured it out himself?

What ifHyacinth had told? She'd been the one to suggest Brother Griffin

handle Janis's case-pushed him hard like she was his pimp. Before the settlement,

her medical was covered, but with so many other things difficult to pay for on

disability alone Janis had been living from hand to mouth. Hyacinth had moved her

up on the Sous Sous schedule so there would be enough for Clara to have her

allowance and the things she needed. When she finally got the settlement, she hadn't

been sure how to handle it. Once again Hyacinth had stepped in to help. Set-up

accounts; explained options, even prepared a budget for Janis.

But lately there was tension between them. Janis had recently come to the

conclusion that Sous Sous was the epitome of the bling bling Pastor had preached

against since all the women did was pool money for the purpose of buying things.

She'd shared her concerns with Hyacinth, who had lorded over her all the times she'd

arranged for Janis to get her money early back when she was still a down-on-her­

luck, working poor-single mother-school bus driver. "How can you say it doesn't

serve an important purpose when so many of our sisters can't get credit at banks?

You yourself couldn't get a car loan that easily when you used to drive a bus for a living. Didn't the dealer change his tune when you walked in with a $3,000 down

payment? And you got the car you wanted, all because of ujamma, our cooperative venture." Janis had clung to her new belief like she clutched her cane when her legs felt weak: "Not everything African is of God," she said. Hyacinth had turned about

131 ten different shades of red and said, "I assure you in April you will be released of your commitment, my sister." But her voice had been bitter. Might she have told

Pastor Brown about the money out of spite? In case she had, Janis found a stray twenty in her purse to add to the check she'd written last night.

The collection plate was making its way down her pew from the right. It was in Clara's hands now. She held it out and Janis placed her offering atop the others and clutched it momentarily. The metal felt smooth and soothing. A warming sensation spread from her face down to the place between her legs that hadn't been touched since she got saved. Oh, what she would give to have this feeling all the time.

She handed the shiny brass plate back to the usher and then patted her chest.

She should have given more! It would have eased her conscience about all the cussing she'd done at Clara lately: last week about the smoking, last night when she saw her kiss that boy, and this morning just because she was so trifling. Until she could retrain for a new profession, she knew that she had to -how had Hyacinth put it?-stick to her budget. But surely if she kept too much of the money she was inviting the devil.

Wasn't that clear from Clara's recent behavior?

The ushers were headed up to the pulpit when Janis realized Clara hadn't put a thing into the offering plate. All the trouble she'd gone to last night, first to make out the check for the donation from Clara's account, then to find her envelopes, and she couldn't even remember to put it in church? She sighed. The girl already had enough parental sins working against her what with being born out of wedlock to a father who had a sinful past and a middling future, since he'd been in prison, what was it,

132 close to seventeen years since he'd killed a rival dealer in a dispute over crack turf It had happened before they even knew Clara was on the way. Janis was doing what she could but Clara really needed to do her part if she expected to even the odds.

She stood while the offering was delivered to the altar. The sudden rush of blood to her legs caused a tingling pain. It felt good to be on her feet, though. She wondered who was counting today. She'd get Clara's donation to them after service if it was the last thing she did. She scanned the church with her sharp vision-which thankfully had not been affected by the accident. Hyacinth would have been a good candidate, but things between them had been awkward since their bling bling argument. She decided to take it to Brother Griffin. It would give her a chance to speak with him again. The brother wasn't at all bad looking. Some might even consider him fine with those thick lips and that sweet brown face of his. The man had serious biceps, too, okay? Knew his stuff backwards and forwards when it came to the law. And, she admitted to herself, it was nice to interact with a single man on occasion even though she was married to the Lord now.

The hymn concluded just as the tingling subsided. As Janis took her seat she realized Clara had never gotten up. Still dozing. She wished for her cane again as she slowly slid down the pew and poked Clara's ribs with a hymnbook.

"Where' s your offering envelope?"

"Ouch!" Clara had the nerve to look indignant. Janis prayed the people in front of them couldn't hear. She hadn't heard anyone behind her in canned goods, so she assumed those pews were empty.

133 "Where' s your offering?"

"I dunno." Clara closed her eyes again. Pastor Greene was only making announcements now, but that was no excuse to tune out.

Janis sighed. The sins ofthe father ... The rest of the words were stuck somewhere in her brain, but the consequences were clear in her mind. Between the sins of Clara's father and the adultery of both her parents, Clara was surely headed for trouble. The Lord would see to it if the devil didn't first. The child could not afford to be slack.

She stepped on Clara's little toe, feeling no remorse since her stinky sandaled feet were bare when she was supposed to have put on the panty hose Janis laid out for her. Not to mention the patent leather church shoes.

"Ma, that hurts!" Clara was definitely wide awake now. An old woman in the pew to the left of theirs looked over at them and raised her eyebrows. Janis didn't think it was anyone she knew.

"Lower your voice. I didn't hurt you."

Clara rolled her salty eyes at Janis.

"Where is your offering envelope?"

"I already told you, I don't know." Clara practically whined. Her skinny bottom lip stuck out.

"You are to find it soon as we get home and put it in the mail," Janis whispered. The firmness she managed to put into her tone surprised her.

"Yes, Ma'am." Clara's eyes fluttered sleepily. Or had she rolled them again?

134 "Better, still, before you go to the mall, you can drive over here and hand deliver it."

"But ifl do that it's-"

She waited while Pastor Greene wrapped up his remarks and took his seat.

"No ifs. Ands. Or buts." Janis spoke as close to her daughter's ear as she could, hoping some saliva was mixed in with her words.

"Dang," Clara said and inched away from Janis and promptly closed her eyes again. Janis was going to have to restrict her social activities. She hadn't wanted to be as hard on Clara as her mother had been on her but the girl was leaving her no choice.

If she couldn't get up on time for church, stay alert a mere three hours to worship

Him, she was not going to be able to run the streets and the malls. She already had enough reservations about her getting so chummy with that uppity Darla. Janis was convinced the girl was just like her bourgeois mother, Frances. The woman started that book club and never even asked her to join. As if she thought a bus driver couldn't be interested in literature. It was only since Janis got the money that she had permitted their daughters to be thick as thieves. Humph. Janis wasn't at all convinced that Darla hadn't been the ringleader with those cigarettes. After all, she was the one who had been caught with them.

But she couldn't blame Darla for everything to do with Clara's attitude. That boy, Harule, or Jakim, or whatever his name was, with his hairdo that required appointments at the beauty parlor was another menace. Although he called the house daily, Janis had met him for the first time yesterday at Hair is Us. She had gone there

135 to pick Clara up from her hair/manicure/pedicure/reflexology appointment. Instantly,

she had known that there was a young man that needed to be in church. Spending

money-not to mention time-sitting under a hair dryer with metal clips in his hair!

It just wasn't right. She tried to question Clara about it. "Hello? It's just a hairstyle,

Ma. It gets did, just like ours does," Clara had explained on the way home, her speech

already ghetto-fled after just nine hours in that shop. Janis had invited the boy to

come to church with them today but he had tactlessly blown her off with, "My parents

are agnostic."

What had Pastor just said? Janis realized she'd somehow been thinking about

that boy and not concentrating on The Word. It was a small sin; her two-pack a day

habit was much bigger. Look at how it had led Clara and Darla into temptation. God, just the thought of them smoking set her mind on having a cigarette. It had been-she

glanced at her watch-nine and a halfhours since she'd smoked the last one. She was

really jonesing now.

An evil spirit was making her focus on worldly stimulants when she was

supposed to be listening to The Word. Devil was always busy. Janis felt ashamed.

Now she decided she was going to have to write another check when she got home.

Give it to Brother Griffin when they brought Clara's offering.

Everyone else in the church stood, so Janis did too. She followed suit as they

held their hands out for the benediction. The benediction! She vaguely remembered

Pastor Greene making the announcements-though she didn't remember what they

were-but when had Pastor Brown given the closing prayer? She'd missed just about

136 everything after the offering. Everything. Come to think of it, she didn't remember much of the sermon that preceded it, either. She'd have to buy a videotape of the service when it was available. Make Clara watch it too, since she'd practically slept through the whole thing.

* * *

"Pastor Brown, I so enjoyed today's message," Janis said. Guilt at her mind wandering during the service had prompted her to send Clara out to the van to get her cane so they could stay for social hour. Now as she stood in the check out section sipping warm tea, she prayed Pastor didn't ask what specifically she had enjoyed, since she had no clue.

"Thank you, Sister Janis." Pastor Brown took a sip of bottled water. A bit of it clung to his thick mustache. He was bald as an orange, but had an abundance of facial hair. Poor man probably wished he could erase it from his face and sprout it on his head like a Chia pet.

"How are you this morning, Clara?" Pastor Brown said. The girl mumbled something that could have been anything from "fine and you" to "forget you." She hadn't had any problems articulating last night when Janis picked her up from that party too early and caught that boy kissing her. "Why' d you haveta come exactly at one? Like, couldn't you have picked me up at two? Then you wouldn't haveta be mad cause you wouldn't have seen." Janis was about to apologize for Clara's rudeness, when she caught a strong whiff of perfume and heard a voice she'd hoped not to right

137 behind her. She couldn't tum her neck, but she didn't have to; she could feel

Hyacinth's presence like her legs now knew when rain was on the way.

"Well hello, Janis." Hyacinth was by Janis' side, now. Pastor Brown moved on to other parishioners.

"Hyacinth. Nice to see you." Janis knew she didn't mean what she was saying.

Seemed like she had come to church today just to sin. "How have you been?"

"Great." Hyacinth opened her dainty leather purse-wasn't big enough to hold Janis' traveling medication-and took out a buff colored envelope. "Here's the income tax stuff for you to look over. The annual report from the credit card company is in here, too."

"Thanks, but you could have mailed this," Janis said.

"No trouble to hand deliver it. I'm off to count," Hyacinth said.

Janis took a seat and peeked at the forms. Somehow Hyacinth had managed to get her a refund. But that wasn't the worst thing. Just looking at her per item spending on the credit card report was as painful as sitting in place too long. Why on dining out alone she and Clara had spent $7,000 last year! Then there was the matter of the

$2,500 they'd spent on coffee-more than she'd spent on medicine!- and the $5,000 on miscellaneous. It was just as she feared: the bling had gotten hold of her and Clara.

She glanced around her. If anyone in the congregation got wind of this ... it just didn't look good. Here she was living high off the hog, and still had money to bum.

Every fool knew the Bible said it was easier for a camel to thread the eye of a needle than for a rich person to ... the rest of it wouldn't quite come to her. But the bottom

138 line was if the rapture were to occur today she and Clara were screwed. They would be left behind like children who ignored the bus schedule. For the sake of both of them, she had to do better.

She stood and leaned on her cane. Across the room Clara was whispering in the comer with Darla. Probably up to more no good. She hustled over there as if she could prevent the next prank by moving fast enough. Greeted Darla and asked after her parents, though, Lord forgive her, she really didn't care how they were. "Clara, we have to get going."

Clara stuck out her bottom lip and sighed. "Ma, Darla has something to say to you." Janis wondered what they had done now.

"I just wanted to say in person that I'm really sorry we took your cigarettes,

Mrs. Hollister," Darla said, and hung her head like a bad little puppy. Was that it?

Janis waited while the girl stood there silently, her chubby vanilla face pale as the

Host.

Finally she said, "I trust your parents have warned you about the dangers of smoking."

"My Dad grounded me, like, until further notice. I didn't go to the party last night. I have to wait six more months to get my Jeep. I'm not allowed to drive my mom's car and ...." I, I, I My jeep. Janis almost repeated it just to see if the child would hear how she sounded. Just like Clara this morning: my Frappuccino.

"Please promise me, you won't ever smoke again, okay? I was your age when

I started and it's a nasty habit-hard to break."

139 Darla nodded. "You're right, it was nasty. I promise I won't do it again. But

Mrs. Hollister, you really shouldn't do it anymore either."

"She's right, Ma. Like Pastor Brown was saying in his sermon, the body is the temple of the soul. That would make yours a little polluted."

Janis hadn't even heard him say that, but she nodded. The girls seemed sincere and contrite. And worse of all, everything they'd said was right on the money.

Maybe she shouldn't have, but at this particular moment she hated them.

She unlocked the van and got in while Clara climbed in on the passenger side.

What she wanted more than anything right now was to be in her kitchen, feet propped up, watching the sun while sipping tea and smoking at least three cigarettes. One right after the other. But she would have to wait to indulge herself after that lecture from

Clara. They had to go home and get her donation. Bring it back to the church office and turn it over to Brother Griffin. Clara's remarks had proven there still was hope for the child. It was more important than ever to remain vigilant.

She got in her seat and started the car.

"Wait, Mama, I have to take Darla her purse," Clara said. She opened the glove compartment and looked at Janis. "I know I left it in here last night when she didn't come to the party."

"I put it back in your room." Janis had seen no reason to leave it in the car. If it were stolen it would just give Frances Jones one more reason to look down on the

Hollisters.

Clara closed the glove compartment but the car was still rich with the smells

140 of tobacco and menthol. Janis breathed deeply and felt gassy with the intake of air.

"Hand me my cigarettes," she said.

Clara passed them to her. Janis plugged in the cigarette lighter. While she waited for it to warm, she thought about what her daughter said about her soul being

polluted. But in the end one thing struck her: that miscellaneous expense on the financial report. Two packs a day equaled about five cartons a month which equaled

close to two-thousand dollars of that figure. Almost as much as Clara's lunch money.

She took out the statement Hyacinth had given her and jotted it down. She

couldn't take anything away from her baby just yet. Not the hair, or car lease, gasoline, clothing or weekly allowance. Not the fake nails and toes that required biweekly appointments. Unfortunately, not even the Frappuccinos. The girl had lived too long without these simple pleasures. She would let her enjoy them awhile longer.

For now she would be the one to make the sacrifice.

"What are you doing, Mama?"

The lighter popped. Janis bowels clenched again. She hoped the Bible was right because she suspected it might be easier for her to fit through the eye of needle, cane and all, than to do what she had decided. She handed Clara the Virginia Slims box. "Take these to the trash and throw them away," she said.

"Ma, really?"

Janis nodded. She watched as her daughter practically leaped from the car, crumpling the cigarette package in her hand like a bad report card. Any change began with just one step. Clara didn't know it, but except for their address and cars and her

141 giving up smoking, they were going back to the lifestyle they used to have. Brewing coffee themselves. Eating at home. Beauty appointments only on special occasions.

Rubbing their own feet. If Clara was ever going to learn how to live modestly again it was up to Janis to set the example. It was going to be a process and it wasn't going to be easy. But she would remind her daughter how it could be done. Starting today.

Clara smiled at Janis as she climbed back inside the van. "You're really going to quit? I mean, we're not going to stop at the store for more on the way home?''

"No," Janis said. There were nicotine patches somewhere around the house. If she got a craving she'd put one of them on. No, on second thought, maybe she wouldn't use them. If she could go without any nicotine at all, suffer through a painful withdrawal, maybe it would make up for some of the highfalutin living she and Clara had been doing. And the Lord would look down more favorably on them.

She just knew it. For the second time today, that warming sensation spread all the way through her. She was already getting used to it.

142 Home Economics

The circumstances that led to Walter's bringing home a bushel of dirty tomatoes meant nothing to Treva, who was more concerned with the end result. She was stuck dealing with them on the day she had planned to sneak off to the day spa at

Bonaventure for the stress-reducing whole-body package her mother said was just the pick me up she needed. Now, instead of detoxifying in a soothing seaweed wrap, she was standing at the double sink washing a bright red tomato. She marked its stem with an X and added it to the others in the dishpan before grabbing another one from the other side of the sink. This one was mushy but she guessed that didn't matter.

Sixty-two, she mentally counted as she washed and slashed.

"Man in a straw hat was selling them a few blocks from the turnpike extension. He just stepped out in the road with a cardboard sign spelled t-o-m-a-t-o-s, if you can believe it, attached to a box full of some ofthe prettiest uglies I've seen in years," Walter said. He was seated at the counter across the room, smiling so hard that the razor bumps on his chin seemed close to bursting. "A Spanish dude. Probably a migrant from one of the farms down south, you know?"

Treva said uh huh, but kept her eyes on her work. The dishpan was almost full and she hadn't prepared all of them yet. Sixty:five. She didn't know why she was trying to keep count when what she really needed was somewhere to put the rest of the tomatoes. And a cigarette, too, but of course that was out of the question since

Walter was around.

143 She glanced at the adjoining countertop. The plastic storage bags she'd washed out last night- another one of the recent projects Walter had come up with for her- were still there, arranged over a row of dinner plates on the drain board.

Although their yellow and blue ribbed tops were facing down they hadn't dried. She moved the whole contraption to the other side of the kitchen, set the dishpan of tomatoes on the countertop, and found a big mixing bowl to hold the rest of them.

"It was just too good a deal to pass up," Walter said. He grabbed a magazine from the wall mail tree. "Hard to find tomatoes of this quality, or quantity, for that matter."

That's debatable, she thought as she resumed washing and slashing. This wasn't exactly the bargain he made it out to be. They sold perfectly good canned tomatoes at the Italian market: less than two dollars for a number three can. She knew about the sizes because Walter had explained the system to her. Many times. A number three can was enough for six to eight main dish servings as opposed to the number one tall, which was all the two of them needed for what he called supper.

"Supper," she mouthed too hard.

"You say something, Trev?"

"Uh uh."

"Ones you've been bringing home lately have been horrible-"

"The little grape ones haven't been so bad."

"-That's why I couldn't help myself when I saw them. Brought back memories. You know, my mother used to can some of every one of the vegetables we

144 grew ... tomatoes, cabbage, collards, snaps. You name it. She'd put okra in them sometimes ... the tomatoes, I mean. Make okra soup. She cooked fresh what we picked, but she always canned some too. Come every winter we'd have a full pantry. Never went to the store every day like you do."

"Stuff only stays fresh so long," Treva said. That's what her mother taught her. She slashed another tomato and tossed it onto the growing pile, guessing it didn't matter if it bruised ... Seventy. "So that's how you learned how to do this?"

"Oh no, babe. Renard and I helped my father out in the fields. Planting, supervising the pickers, stuff like that was our job. Mom and Aunt Sharon were the ones that did all the canning ... "

"Nice," she frowned as she went to get the information she had found on canning food. Walter was all ideas, but as usual, it was up to her to acquire the know how to make them reality. Just like with those miserable Glad bags he'd insisted were perfectly reusable. Since she got laid off he seemed to think it was his duty to fill her days with cost saving projects. It was stressing her out. This was why her mother had suggested that she use some of the money she had stashed-Treva called it her mad money-to spend the day at the spa.

He was looking down at the Fortune in his hands, quiet for the moment. He seemed every bit of the weekend executive in his button down shirt and hard pressed khaki slacks-heavy on the starch. She hoped he didn't plan to just sit there reading as if he was behind a desk at work. He was supposed to go find the Mason jars and any other canning supplies she might need.

145 " ... We never wasted money on what we could produce ourselves. Got eggs from our chickens, meat from our hogs, milk from our cows. Mom'd chum butter, too. Lord that was the sweetest buttermilk. Nothing like what you get in stores. Not even close."

"Well, it's too bad you don't live on a farm anymore, Walter." As much as she meant them, she regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. She turned away from him and thumbed through the recipes. A quick glance at one of them and she realized she'd need even more containers to drain the tomatoes after they boiled. She grabbed the colander from the cabinet and was about to take the basket out of the deep fryer, too, when she remembered it was one of her hiding places. Instead, she grabbed a large strainer from the copper rack hanging overhead and set it next to the colander.

"Yes, but we should have been able to save it. That's what Pop wanted. What he'd worked all his life for. I was supposed to go to college and be the numbers man, expand the operation. Renard was going to run the day to day. And Pop would live to watch us pass it on to our children-like he was trying to do for us."

Treva looked over at his face contorted with pain; her sorrow for him almost as fresh as the first time he'd told her the story. "It's real sad how you all lost ... that you lost it but ... " She tried to think of an appropriate expression of empathy but found she had little to add to what she'd already conveyed over the years. Walter was convinced that being forced to sell the family farm to a large conglomerate had killed

146 his father-the official cause of death was a stroke. He'd been away at Wharton when it happened.

"It's been twenty years." He looked at her wistfully. "Just the other day

Renard was saying they sent a booklet around at work for him to pick out an anniversary gift-a watch, or plaque, or something."

"I guess time flies," Treva said. After they lost the farm, Walter's brother had gone to work for the company that bought them out.

"Some consolation prize when we used to own some of the very land they are profiting from."

"I know," she said.

"When we were growing up Baker Farm produced some of the best citrus in the state. We had a reputation. Boy, the place used to be something come picking season. I remember one time ... "

Treva nodded, not really listening since Walter had told her the whole story when they first met ten years ago. And at least once a year since. Besides, he wasn't waxing nostalgic right now; he was dredging up these dumb farm memories to justify why he'd brought home a bushel of dirty tomatoes for her to can. So she waited until he finished this trip back to the past to ask "You going to get the jars for me, Walter?"

The tomatoes took only a few minutes per batch to flash boil. After shocking them in ice water, Treva was now slipping off their tender warm skins. Although she

147 had long since given up counting, she guessed she'd peeled nearly half of the suckers by now. Enough of them that the little blisters she'd developed from the chlorinated water she'd washed the Glad bags with last night were now stinging like mosquito bites. Her disposable gloves had been no match for the Clorox. But they were holding up to the tomatoes, now that she'd thought to put some on. She turned down the flame and scooped the rest of the tomatoes out of the pot, and then put it back on the burner.

Every time she started the water to boil again in the big stockpot, she remembered how she'd bought it with the intention of using it to cook lobsters. But, until she found a job, Walter had forbidden her buying "fancy seafood." Unless some strange character was selling them roadside, the likelihood this pan would bring another lobster to rosy perfection anytime soon was slim.

She blotted her forehead with a paper towel and looked at the red mess that was her kitchen. Wasn't any way she was going to finish this project today-even if she ever did get all the tomatoes peeled. It would take hours to do the actually canning and she still had to sterilize the jars. The jars.

"YOU FIND THEM YET WALTER?" He was right across from the kitchen in the closet by the utility room, but she said the words as if he was outside using that antique mower-everyone else in the neighborhood used a lawn service-on their ever perfect grass. She knew she spoke louder than necessary because she couldn't conk him over the head with the bowl of slippery skins he'd asked her to reserve­ only God knew what for.

148 He seemed so sure they had the jars that even after she'd reminded him to go find them, he'd sat reading while she slaved over boiling water and a wet sink. Sure she'd worked up a healthy sweat and her pores were .open as if she had had the facial she'd missed out on, but that wasn't the point. This thing had to come to an end soon or she was going to throw the tomatoes at him, peeled or not, and ruin a whole day's work.

It wouldn't surprise her if all her efforts had been for naught anyway. If she had to put her money on it, she'd say they didn't even have Mason jars. They were one kitchen gizmo for which she'd never foreseen a need. And from the condition of things when she moved into this house-the chipped supermarket china and plastic picnic utensils Walter used to dine with-if he'd had any they would have long since been used as drinking glasses.

"WALTER?"

"I said I'm still looking."

Treva sighed. Hopefully he wouldn't be able to find them. Then she would be forced to do something else with the tomatoes like make a whole lot of sauce, most of which she could probably send over to the shelter. Homeless people were always in need of food. It wasn't exactly charitable to dump undesirables on the disadvantaged, but if life was kind, she wouldn't be stuck at home trying to can tomatoes on her spa day.

"I can't seem to find them." Walter stepped back into the kitchen. He'd rolled up his sleeves and the tail of his shirt now hung over his slacks. "Maybe I just

149 assumed I had Mom's. Renard and Joy probably took them when we divided up her things and closed down the old place."

Treva wasn't going to address his senseless speculation. Walter's brother had a big-time management position work in the food packing division of the conglomerate that bought out their farm. No way did Joy can their food.

"But, what am I saying? Joy's one of those modern women like you who can't even make decent yeast rolls." Walter pinched a few of tomato skins from the bowl and put them in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully as he glanced at Treva' s progress.

"Guess you really are about ready for them. Quickest thing to do would be to run down to Wal-Mart and get new ones, but ... " He paused to swallow. "Yum. Nothing like this fresh flavor. Like I was saying, I wouldn't have thrown them away."

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Treva was still reeling at the insult. No, she couldn't quite get her late mother-n-law's dinner roll recipe, but she'd bet anything that the woman couldn't have turned out baguettes like hers.

"Guess you can put things on hold until I go get more jars, unless you have a better idea."

"I was thinking I could just make sauce out of them. Of course we wouldn't be able to eat all of it ourselves, but we could take some of it to the shelter."

"Sauce. The shelter, huh? We could write that off, couldn't we?" His eyes were thoughtful. He scratched a razor bump on his chin.

"Yes, I suppose, we could, Walter. But why would we write ... oh, never mind ... " Treva's voice lightened. She saw the reflection of her smile in the lobster

150 pot as she wiped it with a dishtowel and placed it back on the stove. She added olive oil and turned the flame to medium while she quickly quartered several large onions and threw them in the Cuisinart with a handful of garlic cloves.

"Set some of the ones you peeled aside so ifl find the jars later, you can still can some of them."

"Make up your mind, Walter."

"I'm just sure they have to be around here somewhere. Only place I didn't look was those boxes in the guest room. But most of them are yours." He ate more tomato skins.

Treva dumped the onion and garlic into the pan. "You're certainly not going to go through my things?" She stirred the vegetables a bit and then began to Cuisinart the peeled tomatoes.

"Your things." His face wore a smirk. "Why shouldn't I look in them?" Treva took time to frame her answer. Fact was her mother taught her that for a successful marriage some things should be kept separate. And a man did not need to know everything about you.

"I'm just saying I'm sure that there are no Mason jars in my things."

"And I'm just saying those boxes are the only place I didn't look."

"And you don't need to." Treva sighed. Walter sat down with Fortune again while she processed more tomatoes. She stirred the onion and garlic again. They were just beginning to fill the room with their sharp aroma. She added pureed tomatoes to the pot and covered it.

151 "Keep an eye on this, will you? I'm going to run an errand," she said. She took off her gloves, rinsed her hands at the sink and wiped them with the tail of her apron. "I won't be more than an hour or two."

"What do you need from the store now?"

"Chopped meat."

"That whole side of beef we have in the deep freeze and you want to buy chopped meat?"

"I meant ground turkey." It was pointless to argue that she didn't have the time or desire to defrost and grind meat today. "Lots of people don't eat red meat,

Walter. Maybe I'll get some red wine, too. And .. .let me see ... I'll figure out what else when I get there. Think I'll get the turkey at the Italian market, but one of the warehouse stores probably has the best wine prices-"

"Isn't there wine in the liquor cabinet?"

"I need to go to BJ's anyway. We need detergent, and we're almost out of paper towels."

"BJ's? That's going to take all afternoon. How you going to make the sauce if you're not here?''

"It's on low. Just turn it off in about an hour or two or whenever it's done."

She tossed her tomato-splattered apron over the back of a chair and eyed her purse over on the counter. "Hand me my bag." She reached for it and Walter grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.

"How about I just go get the stuff for you?"

152 Treva blew out air as if she were exhaling cigarette smoke. "No." She shook her head. "I hate it when you shop, Walter. You never get what I ask for."

"But I'll get in and out the store faster than you ever would." He playfully pushed his hands towards hers. Treva pushed back even though her hands were still tender. "Please," he said. His eyes had that sad look again.

"I don't want that junk they have at the 'meat people' store. I want the turkey from the Italian market."

"Then, I'll go to the Italian market."

Treva sighed and relaxed her fingers. "Okay. Get me five, no four pounds.

And get three or four pounds of turkey Italian sausage, too. The sweet kind." She stepped away from Walter and headed back to the kitchen

"I got it." Walter grabbed his wallet and keys and headed toward the garage.

"And the wine, Walter. Don't forget to get more wine," she called after him.

Folks at the shelter pretty much ate whatever was given them, but Walter didn't know that since he had never volunteered. Treva didn't mind spending a whole day there helping out with the soup kitchen, but no way did she appreciate having to spend a Saturday afternoon watching tomatoes break down-something they could do on their own without any supervision from her, she thought as she opened the lone bottle ofburgundy she found in the liquor cabinet. She poured most of it in the pot of pureed tomatoes and put the rest in a small glass which she carried to the guest room.

There she sat in front of the closet and sipped the tart, peppery wine, regretting having poured the rest of it into the sauce.

153 She put the glass aside and opened the closet. The box she was looking for was behind three others. She dragged them out first, and then opened the right one and got out what she needed. It was just too dangerous to keep it here now that

Walter's suspicions had been aroused.

As she balanced the glass of wine atop the fireproof container and walked back to the kitchen, she mulled it over. Last time she thought Walter was on to her, her sister had kept it, but she'd also said she'd never do it again. "You should have a savings account in your own name, like I do. Married or not, you have the right,"

Tracey had said.

But it wasn't as simple as it seemed. Treva couldn't put the money in the bank. They would send her a statement, and it would get reported to the IRS. Then

Walter would find out she'd been skimming money from the household budget and her allowance from her salary, when she was working, for over three years, now.

She hadn't counted it recently, but she guesstimated there was over six thousand left: two years of her contributions to the savings group she belonged to at her church: the very same one Walter forbade her to join. She never spent much of the money-just an occasional lunch out or spa day. And of course buying secret cigarettes. What was important was to have "a little something separate, just in case," as her mother always put it. Far as she was concerned a small thing like his disapproval wasn't enough to override what her mother had taught her.

Back in the kitchen, she reached inside the cabinet and took out the wad of money stuffed inside the deep fryer. Better move this too, just to be on the safe side,

154 she thought as she carried it to the counter where the drain board was. She blotted one of the damp storage bags with a paper towel, dumped it and the money from the box inside and zipped it. The seal turned green. "Well what do you know? Guess you can reuse these things," she said to herself Still, when she found work she was not going to keep reusing them.

She took another sip of wine and felt quite giddy. Her mission had been accomplished in under thirty minutes. Poor Walter would be driving around for the next hour or so. Why she probably had time for a cigarette. Perhaps, she could sneak one in before she started another batch of sauce. She giggled as she carried the empty metal container back to the guest room. She hid it again, rearranging the storage boxes in the closet. Finally, she went out to the garage and stuffed the storage bag under the driver's seat of her car. She had just finished when the hinges squeaked and the garage door began opening. She slammed her car closed as Walter pulled into the garage. He was out of his car before she could get back inside the house.

"What's up?"

"I thought I left something in my car," she said. "How'd you get back so fast?"

"You thought it would take longer?" He laughed and handed her two plastic bags from the Italian market. "I just bought what you sent me for and came straight home." He took a plain brown paper bag out of the car and followed her inside the house. He set the bag on the counter where she'd left the deep fryer.

"You were frying something?"

155 "I'm going to use it to cook some of the meat-since I've run out of regular pans." She dumped the packages on the counter and un-wrapped them. The mound of pink links looked gross. She snipped off the casings and started squeezing the sausage into the pan.

"Kitchen sure is a mess." Walter glanced at the crowded countertops. "Sure wish you'd clean up as you go along." He walked towards the powder room and went in, leaving the door partly open.

"You could always do that for me," she called after him. She dumped the ground turkey into the pan with the sausage and turned it on high. After carefully washing her greasy hands, she grabbed a spoon and went back to the cooker and began stirring. It was like trying to mix bread dough with a whisk and her arm quickly tired. She was sure she hadn't misjudged the proportions but the amount of meat she needed to cook suddenly seemed overwhelming.

Walter came out the bathroom and put an arm around her and pecked her cheek. His hands were damp like his lips felt. "I'm going to take another look for those jars."

"What for?"

"You said if I found them, you'd can some of the tomatoes for me. That was the deal."

"What deal? I thought we agreed to just make sauce."

"When I was at the store I remembered at least one of those boxes in the guest room is mine. It's worth seeing if they're in it."

156 One of the heavier boxes Treva had handled wasn't hers. Just her luck there would be Mason jars in it.

"I don't feel like making sauce and canning tomatoes, Walter."

"Come on, Trev."

"I'm sure you noticed they sell perfectly good tomatoes at the Italian market."

"Just once, I'd like to go into our pantry and see something there that you can't buy at a fancy store."

"I'm sure they're cheaper, too."

"Don't you see, Treva, this isn't about money. It's about the way I was raised ... wanting something that reminds me of that. Something homemade. And I'm just asking you to do a couple jars. Just a few."

"Well, then since it's just a few jars, you can them." She stirred the meat harder.

"You know I'm no good in the kitchen. Why won't you just do this for me?"

"It's almost four now. I can't scramble meat, make sauce and can tomatoes. I just can't. I've had about enough."

"You don't have to do it all today-"

"I don't want to do it tomorrow, either. I've already wasted one whole day on this."

"You had something else planned?"

"As a matter of fact, I-" No way she could mention the spa.

"Had somewhere to go?"

157 "Even ifi didn't it's still an entire day of this mess."

"Spending one day doing something for us isn't going to kill you."

"For us?"

"What you looking at me like that for? You think this is just for me?"

"It certainly isn't for me, Walter." She eyed the glass of wine she hadn't finished. A sip would be nice right now. But the meat was starting to sizzle.

"Of course it's for both of us. Everything I do is for us."

"You always talk about us when it comes to something you want me to do.

But even when I was working ... I'm the one who is always stuck with everything to do in this house. That's how it's always been."

"Can't help the way I was raised, Treva."

"Well, neither can I."

"My mother never complained about what all she had to do. It wasn't about what she wanted or even enjoyed; home was where she ruled and she just did it, no complaining. And it's not like I bring home a bushel oftomatoes every day. I just thought-"

"That I needed something real to do? Besides looking for a job, cooking every night, washing out those damned Glad bags?" A spattering of fat dotted her face. She inched away from the fryer and turned the thermostat down. "It's always some cost saving crap, too. Never something I might enjoy, like dinner or the movies. 'No extras until you're working again."' She rolled her eyes as she mocked him.

158 "This is not about money, Treva. You of all people should understand that this means something much more important to me. Nothing is the way it's supposed to be, now. Everything I expected, how I grew up ... all the things that I miss ... I thought ifl just showed you what I wanted. That you'd want to be more like what I expected."

"Which is what? Your mother?"

"My wife, Treva. That's all."

"I am your wife. But I'm not Suzy Homemaker and I object to your trying to make me something I'm not." She pointed to the amalgam of tomato flecks and dirty dishes. "I object to your treating this like it's some ... some farm kitchen." The frying meat was still spattering. She turned down the burner again.

"But you can't object to my going through those boxes now that you've had a chance to move whatever you've been hiding."

"What are you talking about?" She turned and glared at him.

"Reality, Treva. I am a simple man, not a simpleton. I gave you your space to get out your love letters or whatever it is you feel you have to hide from me. Let me look for my jars." His face was unreadable as he left the room.

Surely, he didn't think she was hiding old love letters, she thought as she stood breaking up clumps of ground meat with the spoon. He had to know he had been the only love in her life, from the time they met when she was just twenty-one.

She had been so taken with his quiet self assurance-he seemed to know and like the person he was, just like her father-that she had ignored the fact that everyone

159 thought he was too old for her. Sure, she hadn't anticipated his nostalgia for a way of life that she had never known, but even that did not interfere with how she felt about him. This was the very reason she was up to her elbows in meat grease and tomato parts this very minute.

She was still trying to decide if he had been serious when he came back to the kitchen. "Not that you're interested, but I couldn't find them." He grabbed the bowl of skins, tucked Fortune under his arm and kept walking until he reached the family room. Placing the bowl next to him, he sat on the sofa. Treva hoped he didn't spill anything; she had just hand cleaned it last week.

A few minutes later the television was audible. Periodically, she could see light flash from it as she stirred the frying meat. That was how she realized it was already getting dark. She hated this time of year when the days were so short. Finally satisfied that the meat was cooked through, she dumped it into the sauce. Rubbing dried spices between her fingers, she sprinkled them into the pot, too. While everything cooked down, she resumed tending the rest of the tomatoes.

An hour had passed, when she decided to take a break. First, she took the lid off the pan. The sauce simmered, small bubbles dancing on its thin surface. She sampled some; it tasted more like tomato water than spaghetti sauce. No way was she going to add more wine until it thickened. She found two cans of tomato paste in the pantry and opened them, stirring their contents into the stockpot. She'd let everything cook down and taste it again in an hour or two. It was clear it wasn't going to be ready to take to the shelter today. She went to the bathroom. When she came out

160 Walter was no longer in the den. The TV was off. She grabbed the rest of her wine, sat on the easy chair and propped up her feet.

Walter was shaking her arm. "Hungry?" Only the amber rays from the track pendants in the kitchen lit the room. She wondered how long she'd been asleep. "I'd better go turn off the sauce."

"I already did," he said as she stood. "I should warn you, it doesn't taste so hot. It needs seasoning or something."

Treva went into the kitchen. The counters had been cleared. The dish drainer was back by the sink; the strainers and some cooking utensils were on top of it. The

Glad bags were gone. "Wow!"

"Most everything's in the dishwasher. By the way, we're out of paper towels,"

Walter said.

"Where are the rest of the tomatoes?"

He pointed to the refrigerator. "In the vegetable cooler. Joy said it was okay to put them in those bags you washed out."

"She called?"

"I called Renard. She said it wouldn't make much of a difference for just one night. Since we don't have the jars, she suggested we juice the rest of them."

161 Treva tried the sauce. It did taste awful. "We're going to need more tomato paste. I'd better go get some."

"That's a good idea. Get some paper towels, too, while you're at it. You need money?"

"No."

"Let me give you some anyway." He opened the cabinet and took out the

Glad bag containing her mad money. "You going to tell me where you got this?"

No wonder he had been acting so nice, after his earlier accusations. He had been setting her up. "I cannot believe you went through my things!"

"There's almost seven thousand dollars here, Treva!" He held it up higher.

"Where did this money come from?"

"It's my mad money. Are you going to explain why you went through my things?"

"Mad money?"

"Don't repeat what I said, Walter. Explain to me why you searched my car."

"I'm the one who deserves the explanation here. You made it obvious you were hiding something and since you chose not to share it ... " Walter's tone was calm, but his expression was reproachful. "I had to find out what it was. Where did it come from?" He finally put the bag on the countertop near Treva.

"The group at church, okay. I joined the Hand."

162 "You went against my wishes?" He scratched his chin and stared at his finger a minute. Treva could see there was no blood. As he continued to glare at her, she visualized the spa's massage table. Her body covered in soothing seaweed, face slathered with aromatic cream, hair enclosed in a white turban. The sounds of nature playing in the background. Yet Walter was still in front of her, a broken razor bump on his chin.

"I did what I wished," she finally said. "I did what I wished and joined it."

"We discussed this, Treva. If you could come up with $250 a month to give to

Hyacinth, you could have done the same thing on your own. Deposited the money in the bank where it's insured and you'd earn interest."

"Yes, a whole whopping two percent. Like, you would let me keep money separate from you anyway."

"Of course I'd let you keep some money of your own, if that's what you want.

I just don't want to see you ripped offby Hyacinth's pyramid scheme."

"It's not a pyramid scheme, Walter. It's like u-mo ... u-ja"-what was that

Kwanzaa word Cynthia used?-"you know what I mean. And I didn't get ripped off.

I have almost every penny that I put in."

"Almost?"

"Well, I've had to pay out some of what I already got since I haven't been working-"

163 "Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds? Just answer me. How much more of your money does Hyacinth have?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you: none. It's just a matter of me giving her

$250 every month until this cycle ends in April."

"So you're telling me you have to give her seven-hundred and fifty more dollars but you don't owe her anything.

"It's money I've already gotten, see? That's what the $750 is for."

"How did you manage to save this much on your own in the first place?''

"I did use to work, Walter. And I know a thing or two about home economics."

He scratched his head. Treva could see his eyes rolling around like he was doing mental calculations. Finally he looked at her with steady eyes. "My mother used to always have something extra put aside in some odd place. Came in handy when times got hard. She'd open a coffee can or pull a shoe box from under the bed."

He sat at the bar and then glanced over at the bag of money. "Humph. Don't think she ever saved this much."

Treva was still waiting for his explosion.

"I follow what you're saying, but, please just get out of the thing. I still say we were lucky you didn't lose what you put in." He picked up Fortune again.

164 "I like having my mad money, Walter. I saved it because it was something all my own. So I don't have to hear about things your mother didn't ever do like have a facial or a pedicure. And especially, now that I'm not working, I need something all my own. I don't want to hear you say I shouldn't spend money every time I need-"

"See, there you go misunderstanding me. I never suggested you stop saving or that you couldn't spend this money as you see fit. Just like I wasn't trying to make you into Suzy Homemaker when I asked you to can a few jars of tomatoes for me."

"Then what are you saying?"

"Keep your mad money, just not in Hyacinth's group or in Glad bags. And do not hide things from me. Don't ever deceive me again." His tone was as brusque as when he was speaking to his secretary. He opened the magazine and looked down at it.

"See that's the problem, Walter. I accept responsibility for what I did. But the reason I hid it from you is because of how you treat me. You are not my father. You shouldn't be telling me what to do like I'm some kind of child."

"Is that what you think?" Walter raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, that's what I think. Whenever I talk to you, you don't really value what

I say. Just tell me what you want me to do. And that's supposed to be the end of it.

Well, you can't always have the last word, Walter. That's why I did what I did. Your always being the final authority on things is driving me crazy."

165 Walter looked down at the floor for a minute. Then he looked up at Treva

"You know my father always told my mother what to do. When to start spreading the word at church that we were hiring for picking season; when to put up vegetables for the pantry. I never once heard her complain, but I always told myself when I got married I wouldn't be like that. Like him, in that way, I mean. I. .. Am I really that bad?"

"Not all the time. But lately ... between the bags and cleaning the furniture and-"

"The tomatoes?"

"Yes, exactly. The tomatoes."

"Then, I am sorry, Treva. I doubt that I can just change my ways. But if you tell me what bothers you, I am willing to try and work on how I communicate my expect ... my desires. And I'll try to listen to yours. Is that what you want?"

"Yes. That's all I ask, Walter. "

"Fair enough. That's what I'll try and do then." His hands were flat on the counter. He tapped his fingers a bit and waited, his face seemed soft, expectant.

"Okay," she said. "Good." Treva felt vindicated but guilt played with her emotions. Even if she'd acted in response to Walter's oppressive behavior, her hiding things from him still wasn't justified.

166 "Walter, I'm sorry I did this behind your back," she finally said. Her voice was soft but firm.

"That's all right," he said. "I'm just glad it's not another man." He chuckled and picked up Fortune again.

"You didn't really think that?"

"No. Not really. But I definitely wanted to be sure." He smiled at her, like he had when he talked about buying the tomatoes. His eyes were even twinkling. Treva felt something melt in her. If he had asked her to butcher a cow right then she would have done it. On the spot.

She checked the bags of tomatoes in the cooler. Only a few dozen were left.

She would get the jars and can them after all. Surprise him. "I better go to the store now."

"Why don't you wait and finish the sauce tomorrow?"

"I just want to get it over with. Besides, what would we have for dinner?"

"All that money I saw, surely you can spare a few dollars to take your husband out to eat." Walter laughed heartily.

Treva shook her head at him, knowing he only half meant it. Spontaneous splurging had never been and would never be Walter's nature-just like she would always be the kind ofwoman who liked flights of fancy. They were who they were.

But on other hand, he had agreed the money was hers to spend as she saw fit. And at

167 the moment she was, well, tomatoed out, if there was such a term. She looked at him, the smile on his face once more testing the tenacity of the bumps on his chin.

"Chinese, steak, or seafood?"

"Your call." He put down the magazine. "You make the call."

"Seafood," she said, knowing it was both of their favorite. She took off her apron and said, "Let's go."

168 Extension

Reina smelled something sharp and sour as forgotten wet laundry. She

grabbed the paper she'd been reading and went into the kitchen where her Lean

Cuisine overcooked in the microwave. The appliance beeped to alert her it was

cycling, but after reading the bank notice Reina had lost interest in dinner. In fact, she

wouldn't find its congealed remains until tomorrow.

It wasn't the lasagna she smelled, so what was it? Her nostrils flared as she

sniffed, still holding the troubling document. "Paul's check could not have been

returned. It just couldn't have," she finally said to herself very slowly, though she

knew it was stupid. Here was the notice from the bank saying it had been; the

proverbial proof in the pudding right in her sweaty hands. An uncollected funds fee

had also been deducted from her account. She eyed the rest of today' s mail and

noticed another bank notice of the same suspicious size. She held her breath, picked it

up and tore off the strips. Upon confirming that one of the checks she'd written had

already bounced, and a $30 fee had been deducted from her account, she screamed.

One month to get back the one hundred and fifty dollars he'd asked to "hold a

few days," three weeks before the check he repaid the loan with was good to deposit

and, now this!

The missing one-fifty-no, one hundred eighty-seven dollars and fifty cents, thanks to that Paul no, her own stupidity-should not have meant the difference between having some spare change and being overdrawn, but it did. And there were

169 so many people she still owed. Dillards, Saks and old Mrs. Green who couldn't wait

for a reason. Any reason. She was going to be short. And she had planned to bid on

that foreclosed townhouse at Inverrary. Of course that was out of the question now. If

only Hyacinth had come through like she was supposed to-Reina stopped her

thought there. If that situation didn't work out, she'd have no one to blame but

herself, she should have known better.

The smell continued to irritate her nostrils. Near the sink, she heard a subtle

sound almost masked by the hum of the refrigerator. A drip. Plop. She opened the

cabinet door. The pipe was leaking. Again. Paul said he'd fixed it when he dropped

off the check last Saturday. The wooden cabinet bottom was soggy to the touch like

wet bread slices you'd put in a meatloaf Why had she trusted him to fix something the landlord was responsible for anyway? Now the cabinet bottom would probably

have to be reinforced after it dried or ripped out and replaced.

She blotted it with an old striped beach towel, and then layered last Sunday's

newspaper over the sodden smelly wood. She would have to wait until she paid Mrs.

Green this month's rent before she reported the damage. Reina had been trying to avoid hearing the woman complain, since she'd made such a fuss in December when the toilet was leaking. And again last month when the fan in the bathroom blew out.

Mrs. Green had stood at the threshold of the tiny bathroom, sucking her Chicklet­

shaped yellow teeth, the pink and grey frizz on her head unruly. "For twenty years everything in this bathroom worked without any problems," she said, not having to add ''until you moved in" for Reina to get the message. Mrs. Green made her feel

170 like it was abnormal for things in an old apartment to ever require repair. When she saw this cabinet, the old woman would have a natural fit. How was she going to pay her?

Placing a bucket under the leaking pipe and removing everything from the cabinet to dry on the gray linoleum, Reina went to the kitchen cupboard. She took out one of the Postum jars she kept at the back of the cabinet. There were ten that had been emptied ofPostum and refilled with cash, some more than once. Good thing

Paul didn't know about this stash, she thought, as she carried it to the kitchen table­ he'd have charmed her out of it too.

Her father used to save his pocket change just like the cute old black couple in that life insurance ad that aired in "not prime" time. Whatever he had left in his pockets from breaking a dollar, he'd faithfully put in a coffee can or glass juice jar.

No banks for him. Reina remembered the first time she asked what he was saving all those nickels and dimes for. "Your future," he had said. Reina respected her father, but what kind of future was in jars of coins? The one she was living now, she guessed. The contents of those jars hadn't even been enough to pay the taxes after they buried him. Reina didn't believe in saving nickels and dimes; her Postum jars were filled with spare singles from her broken fives and tens. By each day's end she had at least one in her purse and she made sure to carefully roll it tight as a joint and drop it in the jar. She had a bank savings and 401K account. But most of the money she'd managed to hold onto was in these jars in the back of her cabinet. Just like her father.

171 "Your daddy might have just saved pocket change, but at least it wasn't

constantly being depleted," Frances had said when she saw Reina rolling spare bills

from her purse as they sipped hot chocolate one afternoon last year after church.

"You're never going to get ahead saving dollar bills in coffee cans."

"Postum jars," Reina said. "You know I don't drink coffee."

"Whatever. Girl, I'm going to tell you how I helped Gregory start his business. How I was able to put so much down when bought my Lincoln ... "

That was how Reina got involved with Hyacinth's Hand. It had been sold to her as a way to protect her savings. "Because you can't just go to the bank and withdraw the money. Or dump it out on the table like a bag of pecans you're about to

shell," Frances said. Hyacinth had confirmed this. "When your tum to get the money

comes around you'll have a nice amount saved that you can actually do something with," she said when Reina told her she wanted to join. The first thing Reina had thought of was how much she wanted a place of her own. The money would be a

down payment for that, she decided. That had been about a year ago.

Last Friday, for the very first time, her tum to get the club pot had come

around. After ten months of sacrifice she was supposed to have gotten three thousand dollars. But Hyacinth hadn't given it to her. Instead she'd provided an elaborate story that a hold had been put on the funds in her bank account and the money was in it. No one else in the group seemed to be aware there was a problem and she'd asked Reina to keep the matter private and "give me a little more time, please, my sister. One more week." Reina agreed to for a simple reason: if everyone knew there was a

172 problem, they might panic and refuse to keep contributing. She'd never get her money

then.

The dripping pipe caught her attention again. No, the bucket could not be full

already. She picked up the Postumjar and turned it upside down, slapping its bottom

as if it contained stuck ketchup, until a flurry of green bills the size of clove cigarettes

fell across the sticky plastic tablecloth. As long as she had enough to get by until

payday, she'd give Hyacinth more time, but Paul was another story. She sighed and

began counting.

* * *

Reina managed to survive her latest financial fiasco with just three Postum jars and without the benefit ofPaul ever making good on the returned check fees. He had, however, brought her a huge caramel macho espresso something or other when he repaid the original loan, in cash, as she insisted. "A little something to let you know how sorry I am this happened," he'd said as he handed her the tall paper cup.

He'd given her that smile that showed the dimples in his broad cheeks, kissed her­ with coffee breath-and said, "Gotta run now, babe. You enjoy that drink." As soon as he'd left, she had dumped it in the sink. After two years of dating you'd think he'd realize she didn't drink coffee.

But she bought ajar of instant at Publix when she shopped for Monday night's book club meeting. Brenda and Treva would want some with dessert. As for

Hyacinth, well, tap water was too good for her highness. The one-week extension had come and gone and she still hadn't given her the money. Some creative juggling had

173 enabled her to get all the rent to Mrs. Green, but she was going to have to renew the lease now that the town home deal was no longer an option. Because Hyacinth, who owned her own home, hadn't given Reina money that was supposed to be hers, she was stuck with mean Mrs. Green another year.

Her blood pressure went up every time she thought about it.

She headed to the early service on Sunday. She hoped Hyacinth would be there. Last week she'd promised Reina she would explain everything after the evening service, but she hadn't shown for that one. Later Reina heard she'd gone to the midday one. Hyacinth hadn't answered her phone all week either. Reina had only heard from her yesterday when she mentioned she'd be at church this morning.

Hyacinth's bright blue convertible was in the parking lot when Reina arrived.

She was there. Reina felt kissed by the sun. She rushed inside and took a seat up front. The pink and yellow flowers decorating the altar smelled sweet as pound cake baking. The massive portrait of the crucified Jesus, with his dark skin, wooly hair and scraggly beard was looking right down at her. Instead of displaying agony, she swore his thick brown lips were smiling.

Brother Griffin was leading praise and worship today. He looked muscular and manly in dark gray slacks and a collarless pale blue shirt. He was kind of handsome but Reina thought his choir robes made him look fruity. She surprised herself by singing louder than usual, her pleasant soprano echoing Hyacinth's on "In

That Great Getting Up Morning." "Fare thee well," she belted. "Fare thee well."

174 Half an hour later, Pastor Greene led the call to worship. Reina felt renewed.

She looked up at the choir loft and smiled when she caught Hyacinth's eye during the service. Hyacinth smiled back. She'd been worked up over this delay in vain, she knew now. Everything would work out.

After the service, they met outside the choir room.

"I know it seems like I blew you off last week. I'm sorry," Hyacinth said.

"What happened, Hyacinth? What's going on?"

Hyacinth motioned her inside the small powder room and then glanced under the stall to make sure they were alone. "Alfred is making this divorce more complicated than it needs to be." She leaned against the wall near the sink.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Reina really didn't know what else to say. Alfred seemed like a nice man, but she hadn't been the one to live with him. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm doing better. I have a team oflawyers working on things. Tomorrow at the meeting, I'll have your money."

"Oh, thank God! I was afraid when you said your account was frozen-"

"No I'll have all of it tomorrow."

"You don't know how relieved I am, Hyacinth. I-" Reina decided not to say more. Her own financial problems were nothing compared to the trauma Hyacinth must be going through.

"Please don't say anything about Alfred to anyone, Reina. Only Sister

Margaret knows what's going on and I'd like to keep it that way."

175 "Of course. It's your business."

"Thanks for understanding, my sister."

"That's what sisters are for," Reina said. The women left the powder room and walked to the social hour together.

The next day after work, Reina hurried home and warmed frozen meatballs in bottled marinara sauce. When this meeting was scheduled she'd envisioned serving something more exiting, but given her recent financial mishaps, this was all she could afford. She grated a stray carrot she found in the vegetable bin into a wooden bowl filled with premixed salad greens. She'd heat the bread and boil the pasta when everyone got there.

The leak under her sink had been fixed-old Mrs. Green had practically blown a blood vessel in her head when she saw the damage to the cabinet-but Reina swore she still smelled mildew. She sprayed the interior with a floral scented disinfectant, and hoped for the best.

It was just six-fifteen. She had time to organize herself a bit so she refreshed her lipstick and threw on the jeans she'd worn to the movies Saturday. She'd seen the

Barber Shop II matinee. As she smoothed the wrinkled pockets she felt a slight impression, reached in and found a linty red Lifesaver and two wadded dollar bills.

She was in the kitchen sucking the candy and rolling the money when she saw

Frances making faces at her through the window. She opened the door to let her inside.

176 "Did you spring for some ganja or are you still saving those almighty dollars?"

"Where' s Hyacinth?"

"You got me. I thought she was coming early."

"Early?" Reina's dread antenna went up. This was the first she'd heard of that plan. Hyacinth always came with Frances. She probably wasn't going to show. Reina should have known better. And she should probably tell the others what was going on, too, but she was afraid to unleash that pandemonium. No, she better keep her promise not to. Just in case.

Someone else knocked, but Frances went to get it. As she headed out to the foyer, Reina hurriedly put the jar away. No one else knew she kept money in her food cabinet and she preferred to keep it that way.

"This is aw' ight but when I get my money next month, I'm thinking of having a dinner party. Serve something exotic like salt seared prawns and pan roasted beef tenderloin with shitake mushroom sauce," Frances said. "Of course you will all be invited."

Reina nearly choked. It burned her up that she looked cheap for serving spaghetti and meatballs. "Not everyone knows how to cook that fancy stuff, Frances.

Besides some of us have to stay on a budget."

Frances pointed to the half full bowl of pasta. "Well, there you go. Won't have to buy food the rest of the week. Plenty leftover." She laughed so hard; you

177 could see her thin purple gums. Penny patted her chest as if she could hold back her

laughter with her bony brown hands.

Reina frowned. She still could not believe Hyacinth wasn't here. They'd

waited almost an hour before they decided to eat without her.

"I don't want to burst your bubble, but don't I get my money next?" Brenda

said.

"No, I'm sure it's me," Frances said. "Matter of fact, Hy said I could get it in

the morning Friday after next. Next month is your tum to do the book club, ifl'm not

mistaken, but not to get the Hand."

"I never got my money the same month I hosted the book club," Treva said.

"I know it has nothing to do with the book club," Brenda said. "I thought

when Ruth ... "

Reina hoped it didn't seem odd, but she picked that moment to ask if everyone

was done, and left them to argue over who was next while she cleaned up. Inside she

was doing a slow burn. The truth of the matter was she was still next since Hyacinth

hadn't turned over the money she was owed. And she was sure Hyacinth's accounts

were still frozen; that was probably the reason she hadn't shown up. There was no

way Frances or Brenda was going to get theirs first.

"You get something good for dessert?" Frances called from the dining room.

Reina took the white chocolate cheesecake out of the refrigerator and filled six mugs with water to microwave for the coffee. Fortunately, by the time she served

178 everything, Frances and Brenda had decided the misunderstanding had to do with

Ruth getting out early, and were already discussing Their Eyes Were Watching God.

As soon as she saw their cars pull away, she went to the bedroom and turned on the television. The preview channel littered the tiny screen, and she glanced at it, paying no attention. The stuff for the next book club mailing was on her desk by the computer. Given her financial situation, she should have just handed out the letter tonight. But she liked mailing out the reminders she printed up on her self-designed stationary.

She had copied and pasted the information and was printing out the letter, when she got an idea. She typed Hyacinth's address on a business letter template and began writing. It took ten minutes to compose a formal demand for her money. She signed it and had already addressed the envelope when she changed her mind.

Threatening legal action worked great at the cable company when she was trying to convince a wayward customer to pay up, but when you were dealing with a friend it probably wasn't such a good idea. Look at all the so-called friends that wound up newfound enemies on those awful courtroom television shows. Ugh! Reina did not want to end up in court, but more important she didn't want to lose her friendship with Hyacinth.

She got in her little Saturn and drove over to Hyacinth's. It was just after ten, but the highway was almost as congested now as rush hour. The Arvida exit, though, was practically deserted.

179 Hyacinth was so proud to live in such an upscale and secluded place, Reina thought, as she sat at the traffic light just off the exit ramp. Before renting Mrs.

Green's condo, she had looked into an apartment out here near Bonaventure. It had cost almost nine hundred a month for just a teensy one-bedroom. Only thing special about it was a swinging stool built-in under the kitchen counter where you could eat alone. She hadn't really considered that an amenity.

Lights were on in every room ofHyacinth's house. She was there all right.

Reina parked her car in the driveway and knocked on the door. Through the glass panel she could see Hyacinth with the telephone to her ear as she walked down the white marble floor.

"I'll be off in a minute," Hyacinth said when she opened the door. She waved

Reina inside and darted back towards the Florida room. Reina tried to keep up with her, but by the time she'd reached her, she was already off the phone.

"I know what you must be thinking," Hyacinth walked over to the oversized white leather sofa and sat, patting the cushion next to her.

Reina shook her head no and chose to sit on the loveseat opposite Hyacinth.

Every thing from the thick sisal mats placed symmetrically around the marble floors and to the halogen lights and ornate crown moldings adorning the twelve-foot ceilings reminded her of how different she and Hyacinth lived. How different they were. She straightened her back and her bottom sank further into the soft leather. "This is real awkward, Hyacinth, but-"

180 "I know, my sister. You want your money. I've been doing everything I can to

get it. How can I make you understand that?" Hyacinth's almond shaped eyes

moistened like she was sincere. A single tear fell from one of them. Instead of moss

green, they were dull brown tonight. She must have taken out her contacts.

As she rubbed her shoulder against the wet eye, Reina almost took pity. She

had never known Hyacinth to be a crybaby. She must be having a harder time than

Reina had thought. She watched her grab her silk covered arms and hug herself. "I've

been fasting and praying and trying to work this out, Reina."

"I was expecting you tonight and ... " Reina struggled to phrase her words

more carefully than she knew she had in the letter. "Look, I thought about what you

said before. And I just don't understand how this could have happened. I mean just

about everybody gives you the money in cash and-"

"You were the one who was afraid to carry that much cash around. That's the

only reason I deposited the money. Because you asked me for a check. Ifl had known

the account was about to be frozen ... " Hyacinth was wringing her hands while she

spoke.

"If I had known it would mean I was never going to see my money I would have taken my chances with the cash," Reina said.

"Girl, you know I'm good for every penny I owe you. This house alone is worth hundreds of times that."

She was saying the same things she had before. Reina folded her hands in her lap. "We both know the value of your home's not the issue here, Hy. You were

181 supposed to get my money to me tonight. And you told Frances she'd have hers on time?"

"I'm sure I'll have every penny of yours long before then. I can work this out.

I just need some more time."

Reina sat thinking it over. Whether she said yes or no was really irrelevant.

They both knew as much. Hyacinth stood and walked to the etagere in the corner of the room. Her fingers traced the edges of the small sculpture Reina often complimented. It was a carved stone statuette of two girls holding hands. She took it off the shelf and held it out to Reina. "Take this and hold onto it. Okay?"

Reina had always admired the piece for its simple, direct lines. It was way out of her financial stratosphere, though. So much so she was afraid to touch it. Hyacinth had so many nice things, but Reina didn't want any of them.

"That's not necessary, Hyacinth."

"Just until I can get you your money. And if for any reason ... well, you could sell it if you can't afford to wait." She sat next to Reina and placed the piece in her hands.

Reina only wanted her money. Still, it was nice to know Hyacinth was willing to hand something over as collateral. She rubbed the contours of the smooth stone and felt its cool weight. Then she carefully put the piece back on the cabinet shelf

After accepting a drink of water, she left with another promise that Hyacinth would give her a check within the week. At the door, Hyacinth kissed her cheek and thanked her for giving her more time. The moment Hyacinth's cool mouth touched

182 her face Reina shuddered, but she managed to smile back at Hyacinth afterwards. She couldn't explain it, but despite the chill she felt, she knew she had done the right thing.

The tomato sauce smell that greeted her when she got home brought back her embarrassment over dinner. She squirted Lysol into the air, and then looked at her

Caller ID. Paul had phoned. She hadn't seen him since the night he'd brought the money and that coffee thing. Maybe she'd invite him over for leftovers tomorrow, she thought as she played the message:

"Rein. Didn't you get food for your thing tonight? Let me know and maybe

I'll come over for dessert." End of message, the automated voice tag said.

Paul was always looking to get something from her. He was selfish. Just like

Hyacinth asking her to wait longer. Offering that sculpture when if she really was sincere she'd have sold it and gotten Reina her money. Reina should have put her foot down when she was at Hyacinth's house, instead ofbacking down. Just like she always did with Paul. Why was she always giving people permission to take advantage of her?

She wasn't going to do it anymore, she decided as she erased the message.

She went back to her desk and picked up the letter she'd written to Hyacinth. She applied a stamp and then sealed it. The bitter taste of the glue was a fitting reminder of how she felt about having to send her friend a written demand for what she was owed. But she knew it was the next step if she was ever going to get her money.

183 She dropped the letter into the mail slot when she took out the trash. It probably wouldn't get her results any faster, but she had stood up for herself. That was the important thing-maybe even as important as the money. Especially since she was stuck dealing with Mrs. Green until she could find another foreclosure to bid on. As a matter of fact the next time that woman gave her a hard time about something that broke due to wear and tear, Reina vowed to demand that Mrs. Green fix it ASAP or else give her a rebate on her rent.

Reina smiled at her newfound resolve. Now if she could just figure out what to do about Paul. She imagined calling and telling him about the leftover meatballs and sauce and white chocolate cheesecake and then saying he was welcome to all of it if he would just give her the thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents worth of bank fees she'd incurred because of his bad check. She would say something like, "Pay up you idiot! And do not bring any of those caramel macho things with you because I do not drink coffee!" He would be shocked, she knew, and that thought almost propelled her to do it. But in the end she just went inside her apartment and went to bed, grateful that the spaghetti sauce smell was gone.

184 Shopaholic

Frances Jones always overdressed. Today was an exception. The shapeless peach sheath she wore was no more appropriate for driving her daughter to school than for her volunteer work, or any of the other errands she planned. But Frances had slept through the alann, so she put on the first thing hanging in her wardrobe.

She rushed downstairs in time to fix Gregory his good luck Atkins breakfast of steak, eggs and mock hash browns-the recipe, in which the primary ingredients were soy grits and pork rinds, was bizarre--while he put finishing touches on his presentation. To further ensure his good day, she kept Darla out of his way while he ate. Ever since he'd taken away their daughter's driving privileges for infractions ranging from smoking to wrecking Frances's car after drinking, the square teak dining table had become their home's equivalent of a boxing ring with no neutral comers. Frances was convinced that eating apart was holding her family together.

Now, as she stood in the foyer before the framed portrait of herself that overwhelmed the space, the clinginess of the dress reflected back at her. Compared to the size eight bronze queen beaming at her, Frances felt like a peach whale. She thought about changing clothes, but there wasn't enough time if she wanted to get her money from Hyacinth in time for Luxura's private sale. A certain strand of pearls was calling her name. So she reassured herself that although the dress was too tight, its warm hue flattered her coppery skin. And its short length did make her legs seem

185 slender and even shapelier. She'd just had them waxed a few days ago and why waste that?

"Mom, I need lunch money," Darla said. She stuck out her hand. After black coffee and cereal in the solarium, complaining all the while that she didn't understand why she had to stay away from her father, she'd finally gotten dressed. She put on a gray and blue uniform, its plaid skirt barely covering her bottom. A visible sliver of blue below the tail of the skirt confirmed Darla had also put on real underwear. Thank

God for that, Frances thought as she fished her wallet out of her satchel purse.

"Is that one of the uniforms from last year?" She handed Darla a twenty. What possessed the child to want to wear uniforms was beyond Frances. They were optional at Beston High. Nonetheless, she made a mental note to see if the hem could be let down.

Her butterscotch face perfectly composed, Darla said, "Is yours?" and sauntered out the door before Frances had time to respond. Hopefully she'd make the school bus, because Frances sure wasn't going to drive the little heifer to school after that remark. Besides the usual PMS, Darla was going through something lately. And it had better end soon.

"I love my life," Frances mumbled through tight lips as she went out the house through the garage. She stooped to investigate what looked like a small stain under Gregory's Porsche. Strange. Probably just water, though she wasn't going to sniff to find out. By the time she opened the garage door and backed her car out onto the street, Darla was out of sight.

186 As she drove to Hyacinth's, the sound of something rolling on the car floor annoyed her. She checked under the passenger seat when she got there and found a half-full bottle of pink Crystal Light. It was warm to the touch. How the ... ? Darla, who else? Frances sucked her teeth. Already disrespecting her brand new car! With all the other trouble, you'd think she'd be more careful so she could earn that Jeep

Wrangler she so coveted. Instead she seemed hell bent on continuing to deteriorate their trust in her. "Leaving crap in Mommy's new car is yet another direction you don't want to go in," Frances said as she slammed the bottle inside the little trash bag she kept behind the driver's seat. The action seemed to take all the energy she had.

God she was already tired. She was going to have to do something about Darla, but first things first. Taking the trash bag with her, she got out of the car, deposited it in the trashcan at the curb and rang Hyacinth's bell.

What else could she get at the sale besides pearls? She glanced at her hands.

She didn't like to admit it, but she knew the jewelry she wore daily was a bit much.

The two-carat gold engagement ring-on her right hand now, since Gregory had given her the four-carat total weight diamond anniversary band-nestled the Florida

Memorial ring embedded with her birthstone insignia, which also happened to be a diamond. On the wrist of that same hand, her tennis bracelet kept company with two hugs and kisses companions in yellow and white gold. The other wrist sported several gold bangles as well as her Rolex. She wore a row of diamonds on each earlobe and a heart shaped pendant around her neck. A walking temptation for thieves, her sister,

Edwina, called her. But Frances paid no mind. Still, maybe she shouldn't just buy

187 jewelry with the money this time. Something more practical? She looked down at her

protruding belly. How much liposuction could $3000 buy? That was the question.

She rang the bell again. What was taking Hy so long? Instead of the pearls,

maybe she'd get something for Darla, besides longer uniforms. Something to

motivate her: earrings or another bracelet? The child might not appreciate the gesture-but if it were something big, gold and gaudy, probably wouldn't ask her to

return it. Whatever was left over she'd save towards that emerald choker she wanted.

Frances didn't have any decent emeralds.

Finally, Hyacinth opened the door saying, "Hey, come on in." She wore a funny looking red outfit: belly grazing Lycra top and flared leg Capris. Around her neck a purple crystal teardrop dangled from a brown leather cord. Her usually

impeccable bob was made almost invisible by a turban like red wrap, and instead of their usual green, her eyes were a dull brown. Frances had already gotten in trouble

once this morning talking about the way someone else was dressed but she could not

stop herself from asking, "Girl, what are you doing in that get up?"

"Meditating," Hyacinth said. She led Frances down the hall into the Florida room. Some instrumental music, birdcalls or something, played softly over the stereo.

The blinds covering the French patio doors were open to let in thin slices of sunlight.

There was a green yoga mat atop one of the sisal rugs covering the floor. At its foot lay a black remote control. A waft of smoke was barely visible from a ceramic urn on the side table. The room smelled flowery and fragrant like potpourri. Frances looked

188 for signs of a lit joint or bong. The way this morning was going she'd take a hit if one were offered.

"Incense?"

Hyacinth nodded. "Sandalwood." The scent took Frances back to their college days when they'd pressed rolled towels against the door jambs oftheir rooms and burned incense to camouflage the piquant pot smell.

"Since when do you meditate?"

Hy shrugged, kneeled and opened the bottom drawer of the armoire. Frances hoped she was getting the reefer. Instead, she took out a thick white envelope and handed it to her.

"Thanks. You talk to Brenda?"

"No, why?"

"For some reason, she thought this was her month."

"But, she's not until next-"

"Yes, I know. I-" The opening chords of"Star Spangled Banner" suddenly played from Frances's satchel. She took out her phone and looked at the Caller ID.

"It's Gregory. We'll talk later, okay." She started down the hall with a hello while Hy went back to her yoga mat.

"Did you know that Darla was wearing ... ? Found plastic things wrapped'n papers ... a blue box in her trash," Gregory said. At first she thought the cellular connection was bad. But his voice had the same ragged quality as when Darla wrecked the car. Which meant whatever it was had upset him.

189 Frances translated as she shut the door behind her. Applicators. Of course she knew their daughter was wearing tampons. It was perfectly safe and sanitary. What she didn't know was that her husband was examining the contents ofDarla's wastebasket. Why did you do that, Gregory, she started to ask, but decided against it.

He was real sensitive now that Darla was as adamant about freezing him out as she was about making Frances feel old, fat and useless. Frances could deal with the insolence directed at her but she couldn't stand watching Gregory's hurt eyes as Darla answered questions as simple as his "How was school today?" with "What's it matter to you?"

"Did you take it out?"

"What?"

"The trash."

"Pick up's not today. "Knew 'n didn't tell me?"

"You know how she is right now."

"My meeting's in ten. Site trip after. Home by five. Talk later okay. All..."

"What?" she said. But he'd already hung up. Good thing he insisted she quit her job because it took all day sometimes to decipher his speech. Frances thought it through as she got in the car. Talk later, of course. All. Maybe he wanted them all to somehow talk to each other. But what about? They'd flogged the horse dead on the grounding issue. Tampons? Just before she pulled off, she remembered to open the envelope and count the money. Not that she didn't trust Hyacinth but-

Shit!

190 The closed door was still unlocked so she went right back in. The music was

barely audible. Hy was seated on the dumb green mat. Legs folded in front of her.

Eyes closed, hands holding the crystal, red mouth spewing out a prayer against

enemies in a strangely hypnotic monotone. Shi-ii-it! She'd better be praying for

salvation if she thought she could cheat Frances out of her money.

Frances sucked her teeth and Hyacinth looked up at her as she opened the

envelope and casually began counting out loud. "I'm afraid this is-"

"Short, $500. I know." She looked directly at Frances.

"Where' s the rest?"

Hy' s eyes teared as if Frances had asked for her non-existent first-born child.

Frances looked at her Rolex: almost nine-o'clock. Already, she was behind schedule.

And if Gregory expected them to all talk that was one more thing she had to somehow

orchestrate. Why had she agreed to take Penny to the beach of all places, today?

"I don't have it," Hyacinth said.

"Who didn't pay? Reina?" It wouldn't surprise her that she was having money

problems again. Frances recalled how it had been at last month's book club meeting.

Reina had looked hungry when she'd seen her through the window, sucking on her teeth and rolling dollar bills like they contained Acapulco gold. That image had

stayed with her long after her indigestion from those tacky meatballs had passed.

"I'm having a little problem and-"

191 "You couldn't come up with $500?'' In the ten years she'd been involved in this thing Hyacinth had never been short. Frances knew the economy was unpredictable lately, but Ms. Green Thumb herself broke?

"No, what I'm trying to say is my accounts are frozen. My lawyer-"

"Frozen? What's going on?" Hyacinth shook her head no.

"It's personal."

"But if it's affecting the Hand-"

"The Lord has not ... brought me this far ... to leave me."

"What do you mean by that? What's going on?"

"1. ... don't feel no ... ways tired." Her voice climbed an octave. She was singing? She may not have felt tired but Frances sure did. What was wrong with her?

"Hyacinth?" Frances decided this performance was some kind of diversionary tactic. She'd wait it out until she got an answer. She tapped her shoulder, but

Hyacinth still seemed far away. "I don't. .. believe he's brought me this far to leave me," she sang. Her voice was lyrical and sultry. It wasn't unpleasant hearing her but

Frances had things to do. She tapped her shoulder harder. "HY."

Hyacinth stopped singing as abruptly as she'd started. "Sorry, my sister," she said and stood. Frances moved away from the mat to give her room. "Spirit moved me to do that."

Spirit my black ass! "When can you get me the rest?"

Hy shrugged. She took the crystal pendant from around her neck and tried to give it to Frances.

192 "I don't want this." Frances stepped away from her.

"It has good energy." Hyacinth smiled shyly as she walked up to her, so close

Frances felt cornered. Her breath quickened. Absurdly, she sucked in her stomach while Hyacinth forced the weird necklace over her head. Afterwards, Hyacinth's cool hands fluffed the hair around Frances's ears. Her neck tingled.

"From the sound of things, you need this more than I do," Frances said. Her breathing slowed to normal.

"You think so?" For a moment Hyacinth's eyes really did look green again.

Then it was gone and they were just a wet brown. Something seemed off and Frances knew there was something else she should ask. Instead, she idly fondled the cold crystal drop.

"Hy ... Whatever's going on ... " Frances looked at the crystal again. It was simple, but it really did perk up her peach dress rather well. Oh, what the hell. Ten years and there had never been a problem before. "Look, I'll wait for the rest of my money," she said. "Just keep me posted."

Hyacinth nodded. "Until you get what I owe you, wear the crystal and know that it's worth more than you are due." A strange smile was on her face.

"What?" Frances said. She yawned right afterwards, but Hyacinth didn't flinch, or respond. Frances began sweating. God, I can't be having a hot flash. Where did she have to go next? Luxura. Then the shelter. Afterwards, maybe she'd cancel on

Penny and go get live crabs at the fish market. Line the table with USA Todays from the recycle bin and serve dinner out on the deck. Perhaps in a different setting Darla

193 and Gregory would behave civilly to each other. Yes, dinner would be a great way to bring everyone together.

"I have to go, Hyacinth." She looked down at the necklace. "Did you say something about a lawyer?"

"Yes, Brother Griffin."

"Griffin? I thought he just did personal injury?"

"The brother has many talents that have been buried far too long. It's time he put them to a higher use."

There wasn't much she could say to that. "I hope this is resolved quickly."

She touched the cool crystal again. Hyacinth let her out the door without responding.

This time she heard the tumblers click as soon as she'd cleared the door.

Inside her car, she reset the air conditioning and rolled down all the windows.

She was sweating floods. A line of perspiration had dampened her dress in the space between her breasts. Her thighs were stuck together; even her hands were wet. She glanced at the crystal. The sun washed it in radiance. Suddenly the diamond heart pendant around her neck didn't look right anymore. She took it off and put it in her purse.

Before she drove off, she'd decided to skip the jewelry sale, cancel on Penny, and head straight to the fish market after she left the shelter. The boats may not have gotten any crabs in, but she could still grill. Filet mignon and huge portabellas drenched in that truffie oil marinade Gregory liked. Perhaps she'd make some grilled potato salad too, even if Gregory couldn't eat it. A lovely meal and maybe she could

194 get Darla and Gregory back on track. That was it. The dashboard thermostat was down to seventy now. She was feeling cooler already. They were going to eat together again, like a family. * * *

Frances had bought the filet mignon and the portabellas. There weren't any crabs at the fish market, but she had gotten some nice prawns. They'd make a lovely shrimp cocktail. Even Gregory could enjoy that.

She'd arrived home, done some work in her yard, and then made the sugar­

free marinade for the steaks and portabellas and parboiled the potatoes. Afterwards,

she showered and put on a lavender sundress that properly camouflaged her fat.

Silk wasn't the best fabric to barbecue in, but at least she looked nice.

Now she turned on the gas grill and threw wet applewood chips in the drip

pan atop the ceramic coals. After the potatoes were grilled, she'd go inside and

make the salad.

Darla came out on the deck with her knapsack slung over her shoulder. "Hi,

Mom. What are you doing?"

"I thought we'd eat out here tonight."

"We?"

"The three of us. Got some portabellas." She winked at Darla.

"Please don't tell me I have to wash them. I have to meet Clara. "Here," she

handed a paper to Frances.

195 Frances braced herself for the ruin to evening. Never knew what to expect from Darla lately. She tried to breathe evenly as she glanced at the paper.

"An A? In Geometry?"

Darla nodded. Her uniform was still too short, but she looked so proud and pretty right then, Frances was overwhelmed with emotion. "Wow," she said. "Well done!"

"I'm sorry about what I said about your outfit this morning, Mom. You look pretty now," Darla said. "See you later."

Frances beamed. Gregory was going to be so pleased when he saw this! She rolled the exam like a scroll, tucked it into his napkin and placed it at the head of the table.

It was five-thirty. Darla was back at home studying in her room. Frances called Gregory to get his estimated time of arrival. No answer at the office or on his cell. She sighed. Except for the steaks, dinner was ready.

She sat in the kitchen with a nice cup of organic green tea, the first moment, really, that she hadn't been occupied since she woke up. She remembered her day:

Darla rude in the too-short uniform. Gregory's good luck breakfast, and the reminder he'd be on site today. Sorting clothes at the shelter. The weird scene at

Hyacinth's. She looked down at the crystal. She'd ask Gregory when he got in what he knew about frozen accounts. Hyacinth usually had good judgment but if her

196 assets were frozen she obviously needed someone who specialized in that sort of thing.

What sort of thing? Frances wondered. And how did one's accounts get frozen?

She thought about it for a moment. All those years chasing details at the law offices of Ocean and Driver had given her a certain confidence in her abilities. It had to be an IRS issue. No one else had the power to freeze someone' s assets just like that. She knew that much. She'd look it up on the computer, though, just to be sure. She turned the gas flame down and went into Gregory's office. It had been so long since she used a computer that it took a minute to figure out how to get past his password protected screen. Then she remembered that when Gregory got this computer, he had set up an account for Darla before they had decided to just get her a laptop for school.

She clicked on Darla's account and got access. It took only minutes to get to the IRS website. The click of the padded keys felt reassuring as her fingers danced across the keyboard. Why didn't she ever use the computer anymore? Since she hadn't bought any jewelry, maybe she'd buy her own computer, a laptop, perhaps.

Venture back to the world of E-mail and the like.

She searched the IRS website. Plenty of information came up under frozen assets, but which publication was the right one? She realized she was going about this the wrong way; the thing to do was to Google. She went to that site and quickly discovered there were thousands references to the IRS freezing organization's and

197 individual's assets, but each situation seemed increasingly complex, and certainly beyond Griffin Roger's expertise. No matter how able an attorney he might be.

Finally, she switched back to the IRS website and downloaded one of the publications to browse it at her leisure. While the computer processed her request, she decided to start on the steaks. She went out to the patio and turned on the grill again.

When she returned, the download was complete. The computer asked if she wanted to locate the file. She pressed yes and all the files Darla had in her download folder appeared on the screen. A jpeg file called HyMacGregor immediately caught her attention. Hyacinth! Why on earth would she be contacting Darla?

Was reading your child's E-mail a federal offense? She wondered as she clicked on the file. She felt guilty for being curious and she hadn't even looked at it yet. But she was going to.

It was a picture ofHyacinth wearing cream colored silk-a revealing spaghetti strapped nightgown not unlike the type Frances wore.

Frances turned off the computer. She knew she didn't shut it down properly, that much registered, despite the shock that had seized her like grief.

"Mom?''

"Just a minute Dar," she managed to speak, but her voice felt detached from her body. A knot had formed in her stomach and wandered to her diaphragm. It was cutting off the air she needed to get to her head. Why would Hyacinth send this to Darla? She could tell the child was going through something but ... oh, God! Not

198 this. She couldn't think straight. She tried to remember what would happen as a

result of the computer being shut down improperly. Would Darla know she'd

looked? Frances quickly decided she didn't care about that either.

"Where are you, Mom? The grill smells like something's burning."

"I'll be right there." Frances stood, and left the room, surprised her feet could just go on like nothing had happened. But this wasn't something she could ignore. It had to be dealt with. The sooner the better. She would handle Hyacinth herself She

should wait for Gregory, though, before she said anything to Darla. Get him involved. They had to do this together.

Frances joined Darla on the patio. Earlier she had set the table with rainbow

sherbet colored chargers and melon plates. So festive a meal she'd planned down to the seared shrimp cocktail with its chipotle cocktail sauce. Now the rush of color made her feel depressed.

"It was real smoky, so I turned it off when you didn't come right away. That was okay, right?"

Frances looked at her watch. Had only twenty minutes gone by? "No point in having it on till I know when we're going to eat," she managed to put words together. That was a start.

"I thought you were getting the food. Do you need me to help?"

·"Matter of fact, I do." Frances sat down. "I am not feeling very well."

"Are you sick because of what you saw on the computer?"

"Huh?"

199 "Daddy's computer? You went on it while you were in his office. I saw you."

Frances nodded.

"And you saw something there?"

She nodded again. "I don't want to jump to conclusions, Darla, but you have been acting strange lately."

"I saw it too, the last time I used it." Darla said. "That's why I've been the way I have. That's why I hate him, now." Darla's eyes cringed as she spoke.

"Hate who?" Frances's mouth felt dry. She moistened her lips with her

tongue.

"Daddy. He's such a hypocrite, Mommy. Did you read theE-mails too?"

"What E-mails?"

Darla gestured with her hand. "The ones she sent him. I figured out the

password and-"

"She?" Frances's relief was no consolation. "Hyacinth?" The knot in her

stomach ballooned. "Hyacinth," she said.

"Yes. Mrs. MacGregor. She's such a phony. I saw all the stuff she wrote to

him when my laptop had that virus. I printed some of it out. There's probably been

more since then. I wanted to show it to you but-"

"Hyacinth and your father ... " Frances wet her mouth with her lips again, and

then swallowed. "Hyacinth and your father ... "

"That's why I hate him now."

200 The warm tears that oozed out ofFrances's eyes embarrassed her. "No,

sweetie. You shouldn't. No matter what you think he's done ... He's still your

father," she said.

"I don't care. I hate him." Darla got up and hugged her. "Please don't cry,

Mommy. I was mad at you because you didn't stop him from being so mean to me.

But, it's not your fault. I'm sorry for how I've been." She buried her head on

Frances's shoulder, wetting it with her tears. She's my prize for everything, I go

through with him, Frances thought. My one good thing from this marriage.

She held Darla close, feeling her warmth, trying to draw strength from it. She

couldn't very well ask her to show her the proof of what she was saying. But she

didn't need it. He had done it before. She sighed deeply. What was she going to do?

She grabbed a napkin from the table and dabbed her eyes with its softness.

Passed one to Darla who did the same. "I'd better finish dinner," she said. No

matter what had happened they still had to eat.

"I'll help you," Mommy.

"I'd appreciate that," Frances said. She went back to the kitchen and was

about to get the steaks when she heard the garage door opening. She hurried back to

the patio. Darla was sitting at the table again. "Your father's home. I need to talk to

him alone," she said. "Can you go to your room? Just for a little while."

"I'd rather go back to Starbucks. Clara's still there. I'll ride my bike and wait till you come get me."

201 "That sounds like a good plan." Frances said, making sure to sound composed. Here Darla was being so practical and she was a mess. There was a tear stain on the side of her dress. She blotted it with another napkin, wishing she had time to change before she confronted Gregory. At least Darla wouldn't be around when that happened. It was already embarrassing enough that she knew the worst of this.

"Mommy, I'm really sorry," Darla said. She stood.

"What are you sorry about now?" Gregory walked out to the patio. "What did you do?"

Instead of responding, Darla gave Gregory a disgusted look, then shook her head and kept walking. Frances admired her daughter's restraint.

"What was that all about?" Gregory kissed Frances's cheek, but the feel of his thick silky lips on her skin repulsed her. She caught a whiff of the lime in his cologne as she moved her face away from him.

"I told you to talk to her and get her in line."

"She knows, Gregory. I do too, for that matter," Frances said. She folded her arms in front ofher and looked him in the eye. His face was composed, unreadable.

Gregory shrugged. "Good, then since you both know, perhaps you can tell me."

"You bastard! She was freezing me out because of you!" She stamped her foot on the weathered wood floor.

"Baa-stard?"

"What's the password, Gregory?"

202 "The password?"

"Did you even try to come up with something hard to guess? Or did you pick

something obvious like one of our birthdays?"

"What are you-"

"The system administrator. Or the one for your E-mail account where you

keep the pictures Hyacinth sends you. You really ought to change it ifthere's

anything else you want to keep secret."

"Oh," Gregory said, his face paled. "Oh."

"That's all you can say is oh?" Frances's put her hands on her hips. "Damn it,

Gregory! How could you do this to me?" She put her hands to her forehead for a

moment.

"You kept hinting if I wasn't happy ... our sex life it was okay go outside our

marriage," he finally said. "Long as I was careful-"

"What! I never suggested you have an affair. And with one of my friends? She

and Alfred have eaten here, Gregory! I've fed them, for God's sake!"

"Then I misunderstood. I never meant to hurt you, Frances. Neither did

Hyacinth. It just sort of happened. We didn't mean-"

"Twenty years, Gregory. My whole life has been you and this marriage."

"Hyacinth and I are over, Frances. The whole thing's over."

"Damn straight, it's over."

203 "I mean it, Frances. We hadn't meant for it to go on as long as it did. I haven't even talked to her much lately. Besides, I was never in love with her. I wasn't ever going to leave you. Please don't leave me."

"Haven't talked to her lately! I don't care how short-lived it was or if it happened a thousand years ago! You're my husband. She's supposed to be my friend.

Damn it! You're supposed to be my best friend ... "

"If you'd just work with me, here. I love you, Frances. I love you. I promise you, it was nothing but sex."

"Just like last time."

"Christ, Frances, that was ten years ago."

Frances nodded. Of course since it happened so long ago she was supposed to have forgotten when she forgave. Who the hell could do that?

"This is it this time, Gregory. You can either have your affairs or you can have me. Pick one."

"I treat you like a queen. You don't even have to work."

"I didn't ask for that."

"I work my butt off to give you everything-"

"Don't try to tum this into something it isn't. Affairs, or me, Gregory? Pick one."

"My choice is made, Frances. I told you it's over between me and Hyacinth. I never loved her. I never loved anyone but you. I just want us to be like we used to.

You're everything to me; you know that."

204 Frances looked at him. He seemed so sincere with his baby face and deep brown eyes. He looked exactly like the man she loved. And of course, he meant every word. He always meant every word. She closed her eyes for a minute. When she opened them he was still standing there. Looking exactly like the man she loved.

"There's food in the fridge," she said. "Steaks shouldn't take too long. The grill's still warm. Ifyou cook all ofthem make sure Darla's and mine are well done."

"Where are you going?"

"Have to get Darla."

"I'll go with you. Maybe we could-"

"No, Ithink it's better that I go alone, Gregory. She's very upset with you. I'd venture to say most of her acting out lately has been because of you."

He nodded. "I'll make it up to both of you. Ease up on her punishment. And you and me, let's go away to that resort you like."

"In Maui?"

"Yes. Call the travel agent tomorrow. Book any time you want for as long as you want. My mother can come and look after Darla. It could be like a second honeymoon."

It would actually be more like a fourth, but Frances nodded. "We'll talk about it later, okay?" she said. But she knew they wouldn't. Because that was her way: to never talk about anything she couldn't pin down. Recipes, food, diamond ratings, legal details ... things she could quantify-those were things she stood a chance with in conversation. The rest of it was just life. And all she knew how to do was keep

205 living it, not hash it to death with unpleasant words you couldn't take back once you put them out there. Too much of a chore to select the right ones; it really wasn't the best use of energy, she thought. And no matter how important what they were supposed to convey was they were still just words. So instead of talking more about it, tomorrow she'd make the arrangements. Remind Gregory to schedule the time off work. She would buy new underwear. A few sundresses. They'd go to Maui, have a few romantic days and come back to the same rut they'd been in since her operation, to the real problem in her marriage: she just wasn't interested in sex anymore.

As she drove to get Darla she wondered if maybe it wasn't the operation.

Maybe it was the weight she'd gained. Or giving up work: those were changes over the last year, too. Perhaps it was related to one of them. No-she vowed to just put it all out of her mind. Because to think about it in detail, when the end result was the same, was worthless.

She pulled up to the Starbucks plaza and called Darla's cell phone, told her she was outside. When she got in the car, clutching a large frothy drink, Darla wanted to know what had happened with Gregory. Frances didn't know how to explain that sometimes even when someone wrongs you that you could still be stuck with them because of what you'd lose to be without them. She just said they would work it out.

"You mean you're not going to leave him? After what he did?"

Frances laughed bitterly. She knew Darla was angry with her father for not having lived up to her expectations. The girl's standards were high-much loftier than those of her parents. That was fine with Frances. What she was not happy about

206 was that it had fallen to her to explain things because Gregory didn't have the moral authority with Darla to discuss cereal at this point. Talk later ok all. What a damn joke!

"No one's leaving anyone. And we're not getting a divorce," Frances said.

"Your father and I are going to Maui." She liked how positive that sounded.

Darla stuck her lip out. "I don't understand."

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't either. But that's how it's going to be."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Darla looked at her quizzically.

"Yes, dear I am." Frances realized she actually was feeling a little better.

Today's news was bad but tomorrow she'd be arranging her fourth-or, actually, was it the fifth?-second honeymoon. Maui. All she had to do was keep going until then and the little knot in her stomach would eventually subside. It always did.

"What's that around your neck, Mama?" Darla touched the crystal Frances still wore. Frances looked down at it. The nerve of Hyacinth to have given it to her and say it was worth more than she was owed. The conniving jezebel!

"Trash, dear." She took off the emblem and put it in the ashtray. After she got the rest ofher money, perhaps she'd mail it back to Hyacinth. In a letter bomb.

"I thought you said if you got any more jewelry it would be pearls."

"Yes, pearls," Frances looked at her Rolex. Hard to believe it was just a quarter of seven. The stores were still open. The cash was still in her purse, and she always carried her platinum card.

207 "Pearls," Frances said again. "Yes, I think we'll have time tonight."

"Dub. Mom, of course we have time. The mall is open until nine."

"I know that. But I was thinking we'd go to the Chrysler dealership first. If s time you got your Jeep."

"My Jeep!" Darla clasped her hands together in amazement. The expression on her baby's face was priceless. Frances hoped the dealer had a red one on the lot.

That was the color Darla wanted. She was going to look so cute in it.

208 Waterfront Property

The sun was playing peek-a-boo with the sky making the air feel cooler than

usual. Sally dug her toes into the sand and admired the gray view. She imagined the

choppy water carrying her cares away, along with the beer can some idiot had

thoughtlessly discarded. What made some people think the Atlantic was their

personal garbage can?

Annoyed, she tried to focus her attention on the birds that were flying away­

about a dozen gray seagulls were hugging the shoreline as they headed north. Nature

was usually able to make her forget everything but its magnificence-that was the

point of coming here each Friday. But like her companion, the weather wasn't

cooperating today. She sighed and turned to watch as Treva, a thin cigarette dangling

from her mouth, rummaged through her bright orange beach bag.

"You know, I always wanted to do this regularly before, but there was never

enough time," Treva said. She removed a paperback and inhaled deeply. The wind

sprinkled white ash in Sally's direction. She coughed and then angled her blanket to

catch the weak rays of light.

"Sorry about that." Treva stood and looked out at the street, adjusting her yellow swimsuit over her ample rear end. "For a moment, I could have sworn that was Frances. But unless Penny's done a Michael Jackson, it's not them." She puffed

again and looked thoughtfully at the disappearing cigarette.

209 "Frances and Penny?" Sally struggled to hide her irritation. "Why would they come here, of all places?" The prospect of socializing with people that she owed money wasn't attractive, even if they weren't aware of the debt.

"The fruit drinks should be thawed by now." Treva opened the cooler and held one out to Sally, who shook her head no. She watched as Treva pierced the blue and silver carton with a tiny straw, then removed the cigarette from her mouth and began slurping the drink. No time at all seemed to pass before the sound of gurgling air signified she'd polished it off. Just as she had the jumbo bag of chips and biggie

Slurpee, she'd devoured upon her arrival.

"You didn't answer my question, Treva. Why would they come here?"

Treva shrugged. "After what happened with you, I knew it was coming. Still didn't matter, though; I couldn't do a thing to stop it." She took a deep drag on the butt she still considered a cigarette and then squinted as she stubbed it into a mound of sand. "At first Penny-"

"That's disgusting." Sally's was suddenly hyperconscious of the patches of sand clinging to her well oiled skin.

"Sorry." Treva tore the drink carton in half She used part of it to scoop up the cigarette.

"That's better. Now, what were you saying?"

"I don't know. I guess I thought it wouldn't happen at first. Even though I knew in my heart it was coming ... "

210 Treva wasn't going to answer her question. Instead, she was going to tell the whole story again. Would it be rude to don her headphones and tune the poor woman out? She waited a beat and then said, "Uh huh," as if she was truly paying attention.

Then she looked a few feet to her right where a Latina-looking blonde with legs long as jet skis was setting up her beach blanket. All of the empty spaces on this stretch of the beach and she has to set up right next to my spot! Sally thought. The woman already looked roasted to a crisp like rotisserie meat. Even if her skin was still capable of tanning, she wasn't going to get any darker today. Why couldn't she just go sit away from them, like over by that palm tree next to the cement barrier separating the sand from the street?

To their left, a fair man with a pot belly and muscular legs was packing up his things. "Anyone want these?" He held up two Coors cans still connected by a plastic ring. A forest of dark underarm hair was visible as the beer cans dangled. The over­ browned woman clamored to get to him, stirring up sand in the process.

"Well, it's a good thing we didn't want them," Treva said, _while Sally got up and shook out her blanket, before re-anchoring it with her little Igloo. She grabbed one of the bottles of filtered tap water she'd funneled into an Evian empty and laid down again. She settled her head into the cool curves of her little plastic pillow. No point in letting these people ruin her few hours away from the disaster that was her life. Her eyelids flickered and she yawned deliberately.

"Sorry," she said. "Bit tired." She made her eyelids droop to prove it.

211 "Last week, the woman down at unemployment said I should take anything.

Even if it was only half of what I was making before."

"Hello? I'm in exactly the same boat you are," Sally said, though that wasn't strictly true. Whenever she found another job she was probably going to have to take a substantial pay cut, too. But she didn't have a soul to make up the difference like

Treva did. Not only were they not in the same boat, they weren't even in the same body of water. She stared out at ocean, churning like a whirlpool.

"I know I don't really need the income, Sally, but still, it seems insulting to have to take so much less. It just isn't right ... "

She closed her eyes, but Treva' s voice immediately increased in pitch as if to deliberately prevent her from sleeping. Her days at the beach used to mean blue skies and warm breezes with only the occasional loud conversation in a foreign language intruding over her headphones. Instead of this constant chatter in a language she unfortunately understood. Why had she weakened that day Treva found out about this spot and invited her to come along?

" ... At least things are better between me and Walter. I have to hand it to him, when he found out I was in the Hand he didn't even explode like I expected ... "

At the mention ofthe Hand, guilt sank into Sally's conscious. She'd been dodging Hyacinth for months now. Just couldn't deal with the whole thing.

Absolutely hated to be reminded. She was almost tempted to tell Treva to shut up­ but she was supposed to be asleep. Her throat began to itch. She coughed and then

212 opened her eyes, though she didn't have to in order to establish that Treva had lit up again.

"Good, you're up again, girl. Bet you didn't even realize you drifted off,"

Treva smiled so broadly Sally could have counted every one of her teeth. How did she manage to keep them so white?

"I knew," Sally said, irritation quickly replacing her guilt. She yawned and

Treva followed suit, exhaling more noxious fumes.

"This is always so much fun, Sally! And just think, when Frances and Penny start coming, we'll have enough to play bid whist!"

"Why do you keep talking as if Frances and Penny are coming?" Sally hoped, no prayed, Treva hadn't told them about her place. She certainly wasn't trying to start a movement for every out of work black woman in Broward County. And she definitely couldn't abide socializing with these people while she still owed them.

''Now that Penny finally got laid off, too, I thought it was a good idea to tell her." Treva glanced around them. "It was going to be a surprise. She was supposed to start coming last week, but her car was in the shop. Anyway, she was the one who came up with the idea that the four of us could play cards."

Sally struggled for the right words. Since the three of them used to work at the same place, she supposed it seemed logical that Treva invited Penny, but Frances, too? What gave her the right? It seemed obvious to her that since she shunned the other activities the other women were in, like that book club that was more about food

213 and gossip than reading, Treva should have known she really didn't want to be bothered with group stuff.

"I wish you hadn't done that."

"Why shouldn't I have? They're not working, we're not working."

"You know how I am. I like solitude."

"Oopsie Daisy. Guess I goofed. But I didn't think you'd mind. After all, they're our friends."

That was debatable, but of course Treva hadn't thought that through. Sally sighed. "With any luck, one of us will have a job before next time." She stared out at the ocean. It seemed darker and choppier. The air was denser. A few cool raindrops splashed her head.

"You know something?" Treva' s brown eyes widened and for a moment Sally thought she could see right through her.

"Yes," Sally said. "Looks like it's about to pour."

"Silly, I thought you meant about a job."

"I wish." She wasn't sure it would be anything more than a passing shower, but her mood was spoiled now. She watched as the rotisserie woman raced towards the water and dove in. "I'm going to head home."

"Well if you're leaving, I'm going too."

They packed up their things and crossed the street to where they'd parked.

"I may not be in church Sunday, but I'll definitely see you next Friday," Treva said. She brushed sand from her feet and got in her car.

214 "Yes, Friday," Sally said. "Over my dead body," she thought as she got in her car.

The rain turned out to be heavy enough to slow the drive home to a scant twenty mph. Cramped in her car, the defoggers on max, Sally listened to NPR. A reporter was interviewing Tony Brown. He was talking about black people and money; she turned it off when she heard him advocating Sous Sous groups.

She got home and quickly decided there was no need of lunch. Watching

Treva' s junk food fest had killed her appetite. She grabbed a diet Coke from the refrigerator and carried her beach towel out to the deck. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but not before turning the amber wood dark as mahogany. It was still a novelty to her, this wonderful deck that had been installed when she got her share of the Hand last September. She went to her usual spot, putting the towel down and slinging her legs over the railing.

She stared at the lake. The swirling water was dark and rippled like pancake batter beaten on low speed. Two large swans fought each other as the male tried to force his attentions on the female; her wings flapped violently as she was overpowered. So much for mating for life, Sally decided as the male finished his business and retreated, while the female glided away in the opposite direction. Sally couldn't help but think ofthe gulls at the beach earlier. Always in pairs, or groups, so many of God's creatures were. She used to be more at ease with people-even chatterbox Treva. It was owing them money that was isolating her. She was up to

215 $1000 already. In a few weeks it'd be $1250. It wasn't that she didn't have the money. She just didn't want to pay what she owed until she was secure in a new job.

It was wrong and she knew it. But she had to look after number one. And if that meant cutting ties with all of them, then she would be an eagle flying alone. * * * Having cancelled on Treva saying that she had a job interview, Sally felt no remorse about going to the beach the following Friday. But as she dragged her gear towards her usual spot, Treva shouted her name. Then Frances stood and waved; unlike Treva, who wore a navy bikini, she was decked out in a rather long dress. It was tangerine colored. Penny was with them in a tasteful green one piece.

Oh Lord, Sally thought.

Treva ran awkwardly across the sand to meet her. "I'm so glad you were able to come!" She grabbed Sally's Igloo and led her to the area where they'd set up.

"What happened with the interview?"

"He had to go out of town at the last minute. I was going to call you."

"That's too bad, but at least we get to spend our usual day together."

Sally greeted everyone and was saved small talk when Treva pulled out a deck of cards. "See, we can all play bid whist!" she said.

"I really didn't come here to play cards," Sally said.

"Oh come on, Sally. It's going to be so much fun," Treva said. "You and I will be partners."

216 "Guess I'm stuck with you, Pen," Frances said, and somehow the whole thing became a done deal.

Sally was beside herself While they arranged a beach chair for a makeshift table, she walked down to the shoreline. The sun beat down on her face while gentle winds bathed it in cool breeze. The weather was outstanding in this spot; there was no question that February was the perfect time of year to enjoy her beachfront retreat.

The cool water lapped over her feet, and she waded in a little, and then swam out a few yards.

Treva came to the shoreline. "We're ready, Sally," she said. Sally was happy right where she was, but she reluctantly swam back and rejoined the others. Treva was dealing the cards before Sally had even dried off

"There's some green tomato gazpacho left. It's on ice but it really should be eaten right away," Frances said, while Sally moisturized her skin. Before she could respond, Frances reached into the cooler and took out a clear plastic bowl. Sally didn't believe in green soup, but once Frances mentioned it, her stomach growled.

She accepted the cool container. Frances had garnished the soup with crabmeat and parsley. It was cool, tart and chunky. Delicious. She ate slowly to prolong the pleasure.

Penny said they should play for something. Treva suggested whoever won should bring the drinks next week and Frances agreed. Sally's mouth was so full of green gazpacho at the time that she could say nothing against the plan. One of the women mentioned clubs were trump. When Sally finished eating, she complimented

217 Frances on the food, but when she saw the hand she'd been dealt -no clubs, or aces-she immediately felt like she deserved more.

* * *

"Can you hear that train pulling up?" Frances said. Her angular cheeks plumped as she mocked an engine whistle and tossed her last card just past the folding beach chair on to the sand. It was trump, of course.

"Boston!" Penny shrieked. She threw her last card down and reached over the makeshift table to high-five Frances' waiting hand. Bits of sand powdered the blue blanket. Frances' many bracelets clanged together as their hands met. It was a sickening sound to Sally's ears.

She tuned out their celebration and tossed her last card onto the sand. She couldn't believe how badly she and Treva were doing. She adjusted the score sheet, underlined the totals twice and held the pad up in front of Treva' s face.

"Ifi wasn't so out of practice, that never would have happened," Treva said.

She picked up the scattered cards and began to shuflle them with an accordion motion.

Sally half watched as Treva deftly shuflled. Too bad the same level of skill didn't apply to her playing. If Frances and Penny won the next hand, she and Treva would have to bring the beverages next week. Couldn't get away with bottling your own tap water when you had to bring the drinks for other people. Or could she?

"Walter and I never play cards any more," Treva lit another cigarette.

218 "Well, what do you know? Me and Gregory don't either," Frances said. The two of them seemed awed by the coincidence and immediately began planning a card party. They were quick to include Sally and Penny in the invitation. Frances, with her endless talk of truffies and the size of stone crab claws she was serving for dinner, was already preparing the menu. "I've always thought it would be fun to try a Tapas party," she slowly enunciated as though that would give them a clue to what she was talking about.

Penny seemed excited, too. But to Sally sitting around playing cards with other couples was no more fun than sitting on the beach playing cards with three chatty women.

"Let me see your lighter, Treva," Penny said. Treva handed it over and then

Penny added. "And a cigarette, too, if you don't mind." Frances laughed so hard she started coughing. Or maybe it was from the sudden burst of smoky fumes. The breeze circulating around their blanket didn't seem to be displacing the constant tobacco clouds.

"Any of you have interviews recently," Frances asked out ofthe blue. Sally shook her head no. "Me, neither," Penny and Treva said simultaneously. They both dragged on their cigarettes and exhaled sharply as if releasing the weight of the admission. Sally vowed not to say anything about the smoke. At least Treva didn't talk as much when she was occupied with a cigarette. And Penny never seemed to be able to finish a whole one.

219 "Darla heard FoodCo was hiring cashiers and support people when she picked up their donation for the food bank. I thought one of you might be interested,"

Frances said. Like hell any of them would be interested in being cashiers, Sally thought. Frances always had to find a way to remind everyone she didn't have to work anymore because her husband wanted her home with that one child she couldn't seem to keep on track. Darla had wrecked Frances's car last month because the liquor she'd consumed at a party had prevented her from seeing the tree in front of their house. Now Frances was driving a brand new Mercedes and still bragging about the brat.

"You know, Estelle, the girl that replaced me at Ocean and Driver, got her pink slip last week," Frances said. Her long legs were stretched out in front of her and she flicked her tangerine painted toenails back and forth against the sand. They had the nerve to match her silk sundress. "Damn, I need a pedicure," she said suddenly.

The women all turned to look at her coppery feet as if they were a sale item at Publix.

Tiny black hairs peeked out from the shiny gold toe rings on the piggies that had roast beef and stayed home. Sally thought Frances could use better judgment along with the pedicure. Who wore silk to the beach? Or multiple toe rings, for that matter?

"Poor Estelle," Treva said. She knew all of Frances' cohorts.

"Anyway, I told her about your group-"

"Group?" Sally said. The only group of women she'd ever wanted to be part of was her sorority, and that was back in college.

220 "We could sort of be like a group," Treva said. "The Beach Bum Ladies.

Wouldn't that be great?"

Sally didn't think so. But if they wanted this Estelle to join, she could take her place and be Treva's card partner. Share the duty of buying the beverages when Treva misplayed all her hands.

Treva inhaled her cigarette again. Penny squeezed hers between her fingers just below its lit tip. She carefully buried the ash in the tom carton ashtray, but placed the remnants of the cigarette in her purse.

"I think we should ask her," Treva said. She took a final puff on her cigarette, submerged it in the makeshift ashtray and began dealing the next hand. "She could probably use some support. Don't you think, Sally?"

Far as she was concerned the only thing good this Estelle had going for her was that she didn't owe her any money. "I can't deal with any more women's issues but my own right now, okay," she recapped her bottle of water and picked up her cards.

"Why don't you tell us how you really feel?" Frances said. Penny looked away.

"What's wrong, Sally?" Treva said

"This is all free," Sally turned her hands up to the ocean air. "It was my idea to come here every week until I'm working again, but it's free. If you three want to invite Estelle---"

221 "It might be a nice gesture," Penny said. "I know since I lost my job, the days just crawl by. Spending it with you guys today made it easier."

Sally sighed deeply. "If the three of you want to invite her, go ahead. Be my guest." It wasn't like she couldn't just pick another day to come. Or find another spot.

But why should she have to?

Frances chuckled. "My, my, we're testy. What ever happened to looking out for those in need like Pastor Brown always says?"

"I thought that role was reserved for people like you, Frances."

"Now wait a minute, Sally-"

"You guys please don't fight," Penny said.

"She started it! Always rubbing our faces in the fact that we're the have-nots.

Well, I've had just about enough."

"Sally, this is uncalled for, really. I'm sorry you're upset for whatever reason but don't blame me. Why shouldn't you want to help Estelle?" Frances said.

"Maybe you don't intend to be so condescending, Frances, but you certainly-"

"Come on now, girls. Please. We have to stick together," Treva said. "It's helped me so much that you've stuck with me Sally. You're always so patient and kind. I just thought you'd want me to do the same for poor Estelle."

Sally looked away at the moving water, the groups of birds pecking the creamy sand for food. Whether she liked it or not, Treva had a point. Not about her

222 being patient and kind. But about sticking together. She was stuck with these women since she sort of owed them money.

"Sorry, Frances. I was out of line. Maybe not for what I said, but definitely for how I said it."

"Do go on," Frances said. Then she laughed. "I can be a tad overbearing, I've heard. But I didn't mean to seem so judgmental. It's your beach day and your prerogative to decide with whom you want to spend it. She extended her arms to

Sally. "We're still friends?"

As far as Sally was concerned they hadn't ever been more than acquaintances, but she nodded and accepted Frances's hug. Her embrace was warm and reassuring.

Sally's only frame of reference for it was her mother's hugs. Strong and comforting.

She was surprised to find herself hugging Frances back. Then Penny. Then Treva, who absolutely reeked of tobacco. In the five or more years she had known these women, worked with or attended church with them, it had never occurred to her that they had become part of her life. But as much as she hated to admit it, they had. Even though she had no idea the moment or manner in which it had happened there was some kind of a connection between them now. It went beyond the money. It went beyond anything she could control.

She settled again at her blanket and looked out at the ocean. After their afternoon feeding, the gulls were gliding away; moving on to other points in the air.

The tide was moving on, too. She'd read once that the Atlantic was over thirty­ thousand feet at its deepest. She had never been able to quite picture that. But she

223 knew that the largesse that came over her right then was as boundless as the waters in

her sight.

"Oh, go ahead and invite Estelle," she said. She felt like she was starting

something the minute the words left her mouth. Something different that reflected

how she felt right now. This very minute. In her mind's eye she saw this group of

women coming here every week, even after they were all working again. Clinging to their two-pieces well past the days they looked good in them; clinging to each other.

Treva would be carrying unhealthy snacks or portable oxygen; Frances exotic foods they'd never heard of Penny would bring empty containers to cart away leftovers.

Sally would be toting real bottled water. Estelle was the only unknown. The wild

card.

She looked up and her three friends were staring at her with open mouths. She turned away from their startled faces and examined her hand of cards. She bet herself that if they won this hand, she even would give Hyacinth the money. She hoped

Treva didn't blow this one. "Okay, girls," she said, liking the way it sounded to call them that. "Close your mouths and remind me what's trump."

224 What You Owe Me

February 23, 2--

Mrs. Hyacinth MacGregor 11491 SeaGrape Weston, FL 33796

Dear Hyacinth: Greetings in the name of our Lord Jesus! I wasn't sure how to begin this letter at first, but the Lord showed me that I should take the high road. I hope you will do the same when you read what I have to say. We both need to keep in mind we are still sisters in Christ despite everything that's happened. It's as hard for me to write this as it has been to keep asking about it all these weeks, but, given what's at stake, you should know the reason it's necessary. I want what you owe me: the money I gave you, all two thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars of it. Yes, I know you've had difficulties of late. Haven't we all, my sister? But almost a year I've been faithful. And I know for a fact that almost everyone gave you cash money so the fact that your funds are frozen is irrelevant. You are holding on to what is mine. And I thought you were my friend. That's the only reason I've kept this quiet and waited. But you've put me off one time too many. I can't believe you would do me like this. If necessary, I will take legal action to resolve this. If Christians like us end up in court, what would that say about who we are as God's people? Let's keep the faith. Send the money today. Please know that if I could afford to forget this, I would not be taking these steps. So do the right thing, please, my sister. Sincerely, your sister in Christ,

Brenda stood tending a pan of frying chicken, her mouth an astonished 0, staring at Reina's letter, as ifthe words were going to rearrange themselves on the page and tum into the notice that she was next to host the book club-the one she'd expected-instead of this missive clearly meant for Hyacinth's eyes. But the words

225 would not cooperate. They stubbornly indicated that something had gone wrong with the Sous Sous group Brenda belonged to.

All she could think of was that if this letter was true, Frances should have said something. She was Brenda's very best friend; the one who had recruited her into the group. The one who had also seen her through every aspect of her adulthood from college--they'd roomed together-to her marriage--she'd been her maid ofhonor­ to her difficult pregnancy-she'd sat with her through three months of bed rest. And those were just the highlights. Most important, Frances knew that for the first time in four years of participation Brenda was the last person scheduled to receive her money-she'd drawn the shortest straw. She was paranoid about that to such an extent that she'd already confirmed the date she was due to get her money with

Frances and some of the others over a dozen times. Yet Frances hadn't said a word about there being a problem. "That's why this makes no sense," Brenda mumbled.

"Is something wrong?" Bobby said. He was sitting at the table reading the sports page, while she finished cooking.

"What makes you say that?"

"You've been jumpy since you opened that letter."

"I am not jumpy!"

"If you say so." He looked at her with concern and interest. She almost wanted to tell him. But since he'd always been skeptical something would go awry with the group,-a disaster awaiting birth he called it when he wasn't referring to it as a pyramid scheme--she didn't feel like hearing him say, I told you so. Twice. So she

226 smiled and said, "Sorry. Just have a lot to do today," and put the letter aside. She removed the chicken from the skillet, draining it on a paper towel lined plate.

Reminded Bobby she was going to eat later with BB, after she picked him up from his play date with MJ. Then she piled his plate with legs and thighs and smothered cabbage and dirty rice and waited until he'd filled his belly and gone to lie down-he was on the graveyard shift at the plant for the next six weeks-to take the letter out again.

Still holding it, she picked up the phone and dialed Reina's number. A man answered and said she wasn't there. Brenda asked him to have Reina call her and hung up. Then she thought about it, called back and asked who he was. He identified himself as Reina's boyfriend Paul. "It's just the native New Yorker in me being cautious for Reina's sake," she said, her tone apologetic. "I know she lives alone and you could have been anyone. A robber for instance."

"I still could be anyone, but don't call the cops on me, please. I'm still on parole." Paul chuckled like he'd said something clever. The next sound Brenda heard was a dial tone. She hoped he was joking. Reina wasn't stupid enough to date an ex­ con. Was she?

As soon as she hung up the phone this time she regretted making both calls.

She had made a fool of herself with Reina's boyfriend and for what? Clearly, this letter was a mistake of some sort. However it was dated the day of the last book club meeting, and according to the Sous Sous distribution schedule Reina should have had her money by then. Because of that, although several weeks had since passed-the

227 envelope had sat unopened on Brenda's computer desk for weeks because she'd thought she knew what it contained-the letter was still of interest. The question now was had the situation ever been rectified. If so, that would explain why Frances hadn't said anything.

She picked up the phone again and dialed Frances's number. She answered on the second ring. Brenda feigned confusion about the date she was supposed to receive her money. Immediately, Frances reminded her it was the second Friday of next month. Good Friday. "Why do you keep asking?"

"You know I've never been last before. And I'm always a little paranoid.

Especially since so many of the sisters in the group have been laid off recently. Did you know Penny lost her job?"

"Yes, yes, the poor thing. I've been helping her with her resume."

"That's nice. Hey, Fran did you get the money?"

"What?"

"Did Hyacinth give you the Hand?''

"Yes, yesterday. My goodness, girl! What is wrong with you? You are anal as the day is long."

"Guilty as charged." They went on to shoot the breeze awhile before Frances had to go. Brenda was satisfied Frances wouldn't lie to her. But she got off the phone with her still feeling uneasy. The more she thought about it one thing still plagued her. Reina obviously hadn't meant to send the letter to her, maybe she hadn't meant

228 to mail it at all, but there had to be a reason she had written it. "Like Mama would say, something in the milk ain't clean," is how she summed it up to herself

She left to pick up BB, tucking the envelope into her purse. But before she backed out of the driveway, she changed her mind and headed in the opposite direction. To Hyacinth's. She would get to the bottom of this whole letter mess for her peace of mind.

Half an hour later she was still driving around, the bright afternoon sun making her regret she'd left home without sunglasses. There was no question she was lost. She had been to Hyacinth's for the book club once or twice over the years, so she hadn't expected to have trouble finding her house. However the main road had been extended since the last time she'd been out this way, and knowing the address was now critical. She couldn't remember it, though. Further complicating things, every damn house was the same milky gray color. These planned communities were nothing like she and Bobby's neighborhood where every home was a different style and color. She really never even needed to give people her address. Depending on what direction they were coming from she could just tell them once they got to

Sunrise and Pineapple, to tum left or right and then proceed past the green house with the three sailboats in the front yard. Hers was the third one after it; the only coral one on the block.

Finally remembering Reina's letter itself had been addressed to Hyacinth, she pulled off the road, parking on a swale, and took it out of the envelope. 11491

229 SeaGrape. She glanced about her and saw the sign for that street to her left; although it looked no more familiar than it had when she'd driven down it a few minutes ago.

She proceeded slowly until she found the right number and then parked in the driveway, went up past the portico and rang the doorbell. Through the smoked glass door panel she watched a short figure come to the door and open it. "Yes?'' The woman was blonde-haired, blue eyed and white as skim milk.

"I'm sorry. I thought this was my friend Hyacinth's house. I know she lives somewhere in this development. This is Weston Estates?" Brenda was about to give up. Go get her son. He had been with Malik Jr, all day. She was sure Sister Margaret was ready for a break by now.

"Her last name wouldn't happen to be MacGregor?" The woman's voice was playful.

"Yes, that's her," Brenda said. If she was a thief, Hyacinth's neighbor would probably tell her where the spare key was hidden, too. These suburbanite women were just too dumb for words. But she was so relieved that there was someone to direct her that she decided not to lecture this one.

She's at 11410." The woman smiled. "That's across the street. Two houses down." She stepped outside past the portico. "Matter of fact, I don't have my glasses, but isn't that her?" Squinting, she pointed and Brenda stepped up a little and glanced over the woman's shoulder. Someone wearing a real short dress was leaning into the driver's window of a silver colored Porsche. Hyacinth. The car cut off her upper body so that all you could see was her short white skirt and long tan legs. One of her feet

230 was off the ground. Brenda's relief evaporated when she recognized the Porsche. It appeared to be Frances's husband Gregory's car.

"Looks like Alfred got himself a new car," the woman said. "Hyacinth," she called out.

Brenda quickly turned and stepped under the portico again, fixing her eyes on the brass number plate. "I guess mixing up the numbers was an easy mistake," she said animatedly. "And every one of these houses looks exactly the same." She stared at the woman's front door as if she was trying to memorize its features until she heard a car driving away.

The woman came towards her. "Hyacinth didn't hear me, I guess. But that didn't look like Alfred. He wasn't the right color."

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean ... I don't believe white is better than black or anything like that. What I meant is, well, Alfred's dark and that man in the Porsche was lighter," the woman said

Brenda nodded. She felt as suspicious as Hyacinth's neighbor seemed.

"What's your name?" She stepped towards the street now and looked. The Porsche was gone. Hyacinth was, too. Brenda prayed she hadn't seen her standing over here.

"Mary. Mary Ronnell."

"I'm Brenda, Mary. Thanks for everything. Look, I'll make sure and tell

Hyacinth you helped me find her."

"Tell her I said to stop by sometime. It's been ages."

231 Brenda got in her car, drove a few yards and made a wide tum to the other side ofthe street. She pulled into Hyacinth's driveway and then knocked at her door.

A minute later Hyacinth answered the door, her tousled hair a zillion shades of earth and light. Her eyes looked irritated and slightly swollen. The short dress she had on was actually a robe.

"Oh, Brenda. Thought you were a girl from work I just gave some things to."

She motioned her inside. "Do me a favor and give me a minute to change." She disappeared down the long hall. Brenda followed, almost certain Hyacinth wore nothing under that robe. As she paced the Florida room, staring at the colorful Afro­ centric pictures decorating the walls, she felt acutely uncomfortable. Hyacinth had lied about a girl from work being there. Her neighbor Mary had seen a light colored man. That fit Gregory's description. The car had sure looked like his. She had come to ask about the letter but now she wished she hadn't. If she'd seen what she thought she had? Did she? Well, it was none of her business. She would restrict her questions to the letter and just get the hell out of dodge.

Hyacinth came back to the room. "Sorry I took so long."

"You didn't have to get dressed." She had put on jeans and a white tank top.

Her hair had also been combed. "I apologize for not calling first but this is kind of important." Brenda handed her the envelope. She waited while Hyacinth read the letter. As her expression changed from shocked eyes to a half-smile on her mouth,

Brenda said, "I guess Reina sent this to me by mistake."

232 "I certainly never got it," Hyacinth said. She looked at the envelope. "I got a note about hosting the next book club. Was that for you?"

"Yes. Well, is this letter true?"

Hyacinth nodded.

"You mean to tell me that you never gave Reina her money? And what's this about a bank account being frozen? The money-"

"Look, I don't want this repeated but Alfred and I are in the process of a divorce and things have taken a nasty tum. He's saying he's entitled to half of everything I put into the bank during the marriage. And-"

"-But we give you our contributions in cash. I know a few people give it to you in advance but the majority of us hand it over the same day you're supposed to tum it over to the next person. So if you didn't give it to Reina, where's the money?"

Hyacinth's mouth parted then closed quickly, just like how BB would abruptly shut up when he realized he was giving away something wrong he did.

Brenda knew just by the tremble of her puffy lower lip that she had kept it. Son ofa bitch.

"You kept it, didn't you? Why'd you do that to Reina, Hyacinth? And her first time?''

"You don't understand. Reina and I talked it over many times. I even tried to give her something worth twice as much. A sculpture she likes. But she said she would wait."

233 Brenda looked around the artfully furnished room with its imposing armoire and cabinets full of crystal and stone items. "Tried to give her something! I bet all she wanted was her money. And you kept it! Jesus Christ, Hyacinth. You ought to be ashamed of yourself"

"I am ashamed, Brenda. I am. You just don't know, my sister. I've been fasting and praying that I could straighten this out. Brother Griffin's helping me-"

"What's Griffin doing handling something like this, Hyacinth? He's practically an ambulance chaser!"

"Griffin is a fine attorney. And he has a divorce lawyer working with him.

They know what they're doing."

"Then where is our money? And if you were so strapped that you couldn't pay

Reina in February, how did you manage to give Frances hers this month?"

Hyacinth sighed. She sat on the sofa. Brenda sat right near her, the better to read her body language. The leather sighed softly with their weight.

"Frances ... Frances has been with me from the time I started the Hand. I'd heard two old ladies on the courtesy van one day my car was in the shop. Trinidadian women in scrubs talking about Sous Sous. With ten people instead of twelve, but it was the same concept. I got to talking with them. They said it came from Africa. I immediately knew it was something that might help the women at Redeemed save money. So I talked to a few of them about the concept.

"It was a hard sell. Most everyone thought it was a pyramid scheme. But I-"

234 Hyacinth's eyes watered and her voice cracked. Brenda handled her some Kleenex

from her purse and said, "Go on."

"Frances and Gregory were prosperous, even then. I appealed to her security

as a married woman. Reminded her how so many women who don't have husbands

can't manage in an emergency because they never have anything saved. For the first

few years she and I went last while we let the new members get their money before

they'd paid the full amount. Just so they'd get that feeling! All that cash they never

thought they were capable of saving. If she thought something was wrong ... I need

people like her to stay in for it to work, Brenda. Sometimes not everyone has their

money in on time, but I always tum the Hand over on schedule. Even if it means I

have to cover them."

"Has someone not paid?"

"Since you're asking, Sally's been behind since November.

"Well. So you covered her a few months."

"There's more." Hyacinth rattled off a list of names. Ruth, who fell behind when her son's father stopped paying child support, had never caught up. Gretchen

Baylor had given her a money order for what she owed before leaving town. But it was in the frozen account along with Cynthia's and Hyacinth's own box money.

Brenda had heard enough.

"The bottom line is you're telling me the Hand is two people short. And three

people's money is in the frozen account. Including yours. That should not have

235 prevented you from giving Reina something, Hyacinth. At least $1500. Am I correct?"

"That's about right. That's why I wanted to wait-"

"No." Brenda leaned towards Hyacinth so quickly the leather crunched underneath her. "You have to make this right, Hyacinth. Right away. Doesn't matter if the account is frozen; you need to give Reina her money. Every penny, come hell or high water. And next month ... Next month ... !" She finally took a breath. "Son of a bitch," she said softly.

"It really isn't going to be a problem, Brenda." Hyacinth placed her hand on

Brenda's shoulder for a moment. She seemed fairly calm for someone who was so in over her head. ''I'm sure I'll be back on track by then."

"I know you'd better straighten things out so I get my money."

"Of course I will," Hyacinth said.

Brenda started to feel calmer. "And I'll tell you something else. When this one ends I don't think you should proceed with going up to $500 a month. Not when you're having this kind of trouble at $250. We should cool it for awhile and then if we ever decide to start this thing over-"

"There's no need to panic over one snag. I've run Hands at Redeemed for ten years, Brenda. Since right after my first marriage ended and-"

"-Things will have to be different. Maybe we can just have a traditional investment account where we--"

236 "-Nothing like this has ever happened before-"

"-Put money in everyone's name so one person's personal problems don't destroy-"

"It's not just about what you want. There are other people besides you and

Reina to consider. I can't just stop outright." Hyacinth's eyes looked dark as dirt where they weren't red. "Don't you understand?"

"Other people? What are you talking about?" It occurred to Brenda she hadn't seen Hyacinth's natural eye color in years.

"Nothing." Hyacinth looked away. Brenda got to thinking what her sister had told her when Frances first tried to recruit them to Hyacinth's Hand. No one will ever convince me there isn't something funny with the money in those Sous Sous groups, big sister. How do you know it isn't like Jenga, where you pull out the wrong piece and everything tumbles down?

Son ofa bitch.

"How many others are there? Do all the people go to Redeemed?"

"It doesn't matter. I have everything under control. I can keep everything going if everyone just stays calm and quiet about this. I've been doing this ten years-running these Sous Sous Hands. Ten years, Brenda. And nothing like this has ever happened before. Do you realize how many people I've helped save thousands of dollars?"

237 "Let me ask you something. How many people do you think will want to keep doing this once they find out there might come a time when they can't get their money?"

"Griffin has assured me-"

"Brother Griffin needs to stick to the choir and chasing ambulances. Sure, your accounts can be unfrozen or defrosted or whatever it is they do, but you'll never recover people's trust after all this."

"No one has to know there was ever a problem. It's only a matter of days until

I'll have my financial situation straightened out. Days, Brenda. You both will get every penny. And in May when we start up again, I've already lined up several new people. Frances has agreed to take two shares so we'll be-"

"Do you really think Frances is going to want to stay in when she figures out what's going on?"

"She knows more than anyone that I'm good for the money. She'll understand."

"I mean when she finds out about you and Gregory."

"Gregory?

"Don't try to play me, okay? I saw you in his car. I saw how you were dressed. It's obvious-"

"It's not what you think."

"I know what it looked like." Brenda glared at her and Hyacinth twiddled her hands and looked down at the floor.

238 "She doesn't sleep with him, you know-"

"See, I don't want to know anything about that. Nothing, you hear me!"

"-She won't sleep with him but he has needs. And he loves her. Gives her everything a woman could want. What I needed from him took nothing away from that."

Brenda looked out to the patio. She hadn't remembered this place was right near the lake. The rippling water had a calming effect. "Hyacinth, you can't really believe any of that. And you of all people ought to know that no one can know what goes on in someone else's marriage."

"In some African cultures this would be common. A man with more than one woman ... Frances ... is still his wife and it would be perfectly acceptable for

Gregory-"

"In some Mrican cultures they still castrate women. Would you like to claim that, too?''

"I wasn't trying to take him away from her. I just needed someone and ... Look; it's all over between me and him, anyway. Understand? You're not going to tell her about something that's over?''

"I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Please don't, Brenda. This wasn't about hurting her. It was never about that."

Brenda shook her head. Hyacinth might have believed that herself, but she wasn't putting anything over on Brenda. Just like she was always hogging the solos in the choir at church, she obviously felt she had a right to have Gregory if she needed him.

239 She shook her head in disapproval as Hyacinth rubbed her fingers over the envelope.

Her lips were as unsteady as BB' s when he was telling a lie.

Hyacinth looked up. "When I got the book club reminder I wanted to ask

Reina why she sent it to me when I had already hosted November. Humph," she snorted, "but, I was avoiding her because I didn't have her money."

Brenda shook her head. "Even if Reina had written your address on this envelope it would have been wrong. This letter would never have reached you. But I had to be the one to get it. And see you and Gregory together." She groaned.

"What you said ... everything ... You're right, Brenda. I shouldn't wait any longer. Something has to be done. I'll make a withdrawal from my 401K. I may get stuck with a penalty next year at tax time, but, I don't know, maybe I can put it back in time. The point is I'll have enough to pay everyone what I owe them. And after my problems are straightened out, if we want to start up again, we can take it from there."

Brenda said that sounded okay, though she doubted she would take part in any future endeavors. "By the way, what's the item you mentioned that Reina wouldn't take?" She glanced about her. The etagere was full of objects. But so were the shelves. "The one you said was worth twice the money you owe her."

Hyacinth sniffied as she pointed it out. It was a silhouette sculpture of two girls holding hands. An ebony color. The ridges representing their fingers were nestled close. Fist like. She went over to the etagere and picked it up. The smooth stone was heavier than it looked, but she'd manage.

240 "I'm going to take this as insurance you'll do what you say. When Reina and I get what's ours, you'll get what's yours. And ifl haven't heard from you by .. .let's say Wednesday, that the withdrawal is in progress, I'm going to bring all the others in on this."

Hyacinth nodded. "Okay."

"My sister Renee always said I was crazy to join this group; that this sort of thing was a ticking time bomb. Only a matter of when it was going to explode. Bobby felt the same way. But I thought we were about supporting each other as black women. Like sisters. Frances trusted you. I did too, Hyacinth. Reina trusted you."

"I am sorry, my sister. So sorry."

"Yeah. I am, too."

Brenda left without another word said between them. She set the sculpture on the floor of her car and went to get BB. The long drive east gave time to turn everything over in her mind. It was then that she wondered why Hyacinth had seemed so sure she could access her 40 lK account if Alfred had frozen all her assets. She wondered if she had been conned.

When she got to Margaret's house she had resolved to try to put the matter out of her mind. Margaret greeted her with an offer of tea, but seemed relieved when

Brenda declined. They looked in on BB and Malik, Jr., a.k.a MJ, who were in the playroom seemingly preoccupied with a complex Lego design involving insects.

"Hey, kiddo," she nudged BB. "Hey, MJ," she touched the boy's narrow shoulder.

241 Though he and BB were both six, he was so tiny, frail almost. "Time to go sweetie,"

Brenda said to BB. She asked Margaret how she was doing as she gathered his things.

"Tired. Things are crazy at the office. Matter of fact ifl didn't know any better I'd swear Malik was trying to kill me. If I wanted to work this hard for a living

I would have stayed in law after MJ." Now a part-time realtor and debt management consultant, lately Margaret had been helping out Pastor Brown at their CPA firm.

"I always forget you used to practice law. What do you know about divorces?"

"Very little and I hope to keep it that way," she said. "My specialty was tax.

Why?"

"Someone I know is in the process of one and his assets were frozen. How does that work?"

"Is he in the Caymans or the Bahamas?"

"Uh, he's right here in South Florida. Why did you think he was out of the country?"

"It's rare for a judge to freeze assets in a divorce unless the party disappears or does something extreme. Even then it's pretty rare. The IRS is the only entity that can easily freeze people's money. Maybe your friend has a tax problem, too."

"Maybe I misunderstood," Brenda said. She didn't dare tell Sister Margaret it was Hyacinth. The two were fast friends since Hyacinth was so active at the church.

She folded the Blues Clues pillow that BB took everywhere. "Did I get everything?"

She glanced at the brown blocks and primary colored Lego pieces decorating the

242 floor. She had packed some with Bobby, but it wasn't like she could tell his apart

fromMJ's.

"I don't know what belongs to whom anymore," Margaret said.

"You got me," Brenda said. "We'll just do what we always do and call it

even."

MJ looked at BB's bag. "Mommy can me and BB play some more?"

"Yes, do I haveta go home now, Mama?" BB said.

"Yes, sweetie." BB stuck his lip out. "Now don't go sour on me, son. You and

MJ have had all day together. And you'll see each other at church tomorrow.

Afterwards, maybe Mommy will take you two for hot chocolate." She turned to

Margaret. "If that's okay with you and Pastor Brown?"

"Sure. You want Susan, too? Margaret said.

"Why not?" Brenda said. Margaret's expression was grateful.

"All right then, you can have both of them."

The boys yelped with pleasure. Brenda reminded BB to thank his hosts, said

goodbye to Margaret, then grabbed his bag and strapped him in the back seat. He

whimpered a bit, but fell mercifully quiet as she drove home. She could not wake him

when she got there, so she had to carry him from the car to his room. Chubby for his

age, he always weighed a ton sleeping. She put him in bed and then went in the

kitchen and finally ate dinner. Afterwards she fixed a plate for Bobby's lunch, or whatever you called the meal he ate during his two am break.

243 Later, while he was dressing for work, she told him what had happened.

Surprisingly, he wasn't worried about her getting her money. Her having the expensive art item gave him confidence about that. And he didn't think it was such a big deal that Brenda doubted Hyacinth was telling the truth about the frozen account.

"Does it really make any difference whether the accounts are frozen or say, Hyacinth just spent the money? Either way she's still short." He reminded Brenda that she had a tendency to think if she knew every bit of information she would feel better. But it was control she wanted. "And you relinquished that when you turned over money you could have banked on your own to that Sous Sous thing," he said. Before he started the I- told -you- so's she changed the subject to Hyacinth and Gregory's illicit relationship. Bobby had four words about that. "Stay out of it."

"But Frances is my friend," she said as Bobby shaved the stubble under his chin. He began rinsing the cream. "I mean she and I go back to Florida Memorial. Of course I knew Hyacinth there too, but it's not the same thing. Frances was the one I was close to. She got me through French. And remember-"

"Yes, I know how much she helped us after your C-section. And during that time you were bedridden. What I remember most is how everyone else kept sending over lasagna and fried chicken. But Frances bought that prime rib roast that just melted in your mouth. And that Spanish dish, that pilea ... "

"Paella," Brenda corrected his pronunciation like Frances always did when she messed up the name of some exotic food.

244 Bobby chuckled. "Yes, I know how close you two are. But I'm telling you don't say a word about it." He patted his face with a washcloth. Brenda took it from him and wiped the comer near his jaw where he had missed a speck of cream. "Stay out of it," he repeated. "By the way Reina called you earlier." He put his arm around her waist and kissed her. "Say nothing to her either."

"Right," Brenda said.

Monday night, she had a call from Hyacinth. She had already completed the paperwork to make a withdrawal from her 401K plan. In the interim, she said that

Sally had surprised her after church yesterday and paid what she owed. She'd given all of it to Reina already. She would get the rest of it within a week and Brenda could expect hers on schedule. "I've never mentioned it before, Brenda, but I've been juggling my own money and sometimes absorbing deficits from this thing for years to keep it going. I know that I've done some things that were bad, but please try not to judge me," Hyacinth said. "As long as you make everything right I have nothing to judge," Brenda told her. And she realized that was true: she had no right to judge

Hyacinth, or Gregory for that matter. Too bad that didn't stop her from thinking what they were doing was lowdown and dirty. Insensitive. Selfish. She hung up the phone without asking Hyacinth whether the account really was frozen. Bobby was right about that. It probably wasn't important.

But she couldn't stop worrying about Frances. What did she owe her?

Twenty-one years of friendship stood between them. After college, she'd joined

245 Redeemed, joined the Hand at Frances's urging. She thought back to that time after

BB's delivery when she'd had a hard time breastfeeding. Frances had come to her aid.

"No need to call those La Leche people," she'd said when she arrived bearing a fruit basket, a fried turkey and a pot of gumbo. Giving Bobby the food to put away, she had brought a Molson Light and a huge Chai Latte to the bedroom, where, a pillow on her lap, Brenda was resting. "You're going to drink one of these. I don't care what those doctors said, Bren. This is what I did when I had Darla. And it worked." She massaged Brenda's feet as she sipped the milky tea-Frances had the beer-and

Brenda's milk had come down before she even finished the beverage.

How could Brenda explain not telling if Frances ever found out that she had known Gregory was cheating on her? Once considered the question kept company with Brenda's every thought for the rest of the week. Later she would realize it had propelled her to plow ahead like someone late for work does at a yellow light; instead of proceeding with the caution warranted under the circumstances.

The following Saturday afternoon, en route to the grocery store, her car drove itself to Frances' house. Frances was out in the yard, a straw hat covering her head.

The red band around it matched her Capri pants and T -shirt. It was darned near the same color as the polish on her toes and the sandals on her feet, too. Dripping gold jewelry, as usual, she appeared to be pruning.

"Is House Beautiful coming for a photo shoot?"

246 "Girl, please." Frances took off her gloves and motioned Brenda inside.

"Want something to drink?"

"That would be lovely. Bessie going to serve us on the verandah?"

Frances laughed. "I gave her the day off." She opened the refrigerator and took out a pitcher of lemonade. Brenda sat at the table and watched her dip glass rims in powdery sugar, before dropping ice cubes into them. She further adorned them with skinny lemon slices, before placing everything on a golden tray, bringing it to the table.

While she poured Brenda studied her carefully. Her copper skin was radiant. It looked like she had dropped a few pounds. She mentioned it. Frances was pleased that she'd noticed and immediately informed her that their drinks were calorie free.

She had used a new calorie free sweetener. "It's supposed to be all natural."

Brenda tasted it. "Not bad."

"Well, Bren, not that I mind your company, but what brings you here?"

"A friend of mine has a problem, Fran."

"Someone I know?"

"Uh, it's someone I work with. Anyhow, a good friend of hers-"

"A good friend of your friend's?"

"Yes. A good friend of hers saw another friend with her friend' s-"

"Lot of friends in this."

Brenda realized how convoluted it sounded. She swallowed more lemonade and tried to keep her voice nonchalant as she talked about an unnamed friend who

247 saw her friend's husband in a compromising position with one of their mutual friends.

"She isn't sure whether she should keep it to herself or tell her friend what she saw."

"That is quite a dilemma," Frances said.

"I don't know what to tell her she should do."

"Why, of course, she should do nothing." Frances's voice was sweet and light as the lemonade.

"Nothing? If it were me, I'd want to know so I could clean Bobby's clock."

"Really?" Frances said. Her expression was thoughtful.

"Really." Brenda sipped more lemonade. "Wouldn't you want to know if it were you?" She was conscious of how deeply she was breathing as she awaited

Frances's response.

"Why even ask me to contemplate something so unpleasant? Now, I have crab cakes for lunch. Baked not fried."

Brenda was puzzled by how quickly Frances shifted gears. The Frances she knew would be insisting Brenda tell her who the people were. Unless ... she must already know about it. "So, I shouldn't tell her?"

"Let me make myself clear: Ifl were the friend in question, I wouldn't tell. If a friend of mine were having an affair with my husband, I wouldn't want another friend to tell me. I wouldn't want to know. Okay?" She sounded almost exasperated.

Brenda nodded. Frances sipped her lemonade, then puckered her face and a made a nervous giggle. "That sure is tart. Now, how about the crab cakes?"

248 Brenda thought the lemonade had that super sugary quality peculiar to artificial sweeteners. "No, thank you. I just ate breakfast," she said. "Ah, did

Hyacinth give you all your money?"

"She shorted me $500, at first, but she dropped it off the other day. Left a note saying she was sorry for. .. everything ... " Frances's voice sounded almost as sweet as the lemonade. She got up from the table. Brenda watched her remove a ceramic platter from the cabinet. She arranged lettuce leaves on top of it. Her red-tipped fingers were trembling. She put the platter down and went to the wall and pressed the intercom. "Lunch'll be ready in fifteen minutes, honey," she said. Brenda heard

Gregory say okay. It hadn't occurred to her that he would be home.

The oven timer sounded. Frances took a wooden bowl out of the refrigerator and put it on the table. "More diet stuff Gregory and I are going to Maui Friday after next and I thought it would be nice if I dropped a few pounds so I can wear a bathing suit." She patted her belly and giggled nervously again.

"Maui?"

"An umpteenth honeymoon. His mother's coming to stay with Darla while we're gone. Although she's so responsible, we could practically leave her alone."

Frances looked away from her.

Brenda studied the greens in the bowl as if she'd never seen mixed lettuce before. She heard utensils clanging together like an overfilled dishwasher as Frances took out more plates and bowls. She had tried everything she could short of outright screaming, "Fran, your husband is having an affair with Hyacinth!" There was a time

249 when they would have been able to talk about man trouble. Hell, there had never been a time they hadn't been able to. She had been sure she owed it to her to tell her what she knew, but she should have listened to Bobby and said nothing. Yes, she should have listened to him.

"I'd better go," she said. "BB's home alone with Bobby." She tried to giggle, but it came out nervous, too.

"Sorry I couldn't be more help. About your friend," Frances said. "You finished planning your menu for the book club meeting."

"Sort of You read the book yet?"

"I'm about halfway through."

"Well, I'm making food from that period. You know, some down home southern cooking." This is what she had always planned but now it seemed more important than ever to cook comfort foods. Macaroni and cheese, greens with smoked ham hocks, gumbo, fried chicken, red rice, stuff like that. Clearly all the gourmet items Frances lived on had ruined a once perfectly good brain. Perhaps some soul food would help bring her back to her senses. Maui.

"I still have so much to do before Gregory and I leave," Frances said, leading

Brenda to the foyer. "I hope you'll understand ifl can't make it."

"Yes, of course," Brenda said at the door. She looked up at the portrait of

Frances that hung on the foyer wall. She seemed more like her friend than the woman standing in front ofher.

250 "Sebastian's carries organic meats now," Frances said. "You might try shopping there."

"I was thinking of going to Jimmy's," Brenda said. She'd begun shopping there last month and they had nice quality meats. Hand trimmed to order, too. "A girl at my job told me about it and they have a pretty good selection."

"That place is straight up in the hood, Bren. I can't believe you went there."

"It's not so far from where I live."

"Oh well, different strokes and all that." Frances nudged the door open.

"We'll talk soon, okay?"

"Yeah, we'll talk soon," Brenda said. She had a feeling they wouldn't, though.

Just as she felt certain Frances knew that they were two of the unnamed friends.

Months later, when their relationship ceased to be strained over the matter, Frances would admit as much. The episode would go down in the annals of their friendship as the one that brought it to the brink, she would say, because when she found out about

Gregory and Hyacinth's affair, she thought she would die of embarrassment and misery if anyone ever knew. "That was the worst time of my life, and all I wanted was my private space, but there you were pushing and pushing, insisting that I let you in," Frances would say. When Brenda explained she hadn't meant to pry, that she'd just felt obligated to tell her what she knew, because of all they had been through together, Frances would tell her, "The truth is not what you owed me."

251 Paid in Full

The beige pillbox hat was unlike anything she'd worn in ages. Brand new, its price tag dangled near her ear a Ia Minnie Pearl. She tucked it the under the brim and adjusted the netting, but the hat still seemed more 1950s than twentieth first century.

Like a throwback to an era when women covered their faces lest their beauty tempt men trying to look upon the face of God.

"Oh, it's just a dumb hat," Hyacinth said aloud as she tossed it onto the bed with the others. She couldn't believe so many crazy thoughts had jumbled together in the split second between putting the hat on and hating how it looked. She glanced at the clothing clutter on her bed and had a moment of deja vu. She really had been here before and knew what would come next: she would chicken out and tell herself to just stay home. Well that was not going to happen this time. "You are going today," she told her reflection in the dressing mirror.

Her hair was slightly tousled as if she'd just gotten out of bed. She smoothed it behind her ears and tried to remember why covering her head had seemed so important this Sunday. It was not as if a hat could conceal the painful memories of her many indiscretions. She sighed and frowned. Still in her silk slip, with the bedroom hair, she hardly looked like a woman on her way to church, she realized as she went to the closet to look again.

Putting an outfit together hadn't been a big deal when she sang in the choir since a long robe covered her clothing, but it had been about a month since she'd quit.

252 So she had to find something appropriate-and soon. Service wouldn't start for two

hours but if she wanted a seat, she had to get there early.

Maybe I won't go today after all.

She pushed back that thought as quickly as she began rummaging through her

clothes again. It was time to show her face. Reina had called more than once. So had

Ruth, Treva and, surprisingly, even Sally. Pastor Brown and Sister Margaret had

phoned. Even Griffin had taken to phoning daily to demand that she come back,

although, since he'd been handling a legal matter for her, he of all people knew at

least one of the reasons she had left.

"You let people down?" That's not an acceptable reason to stay away,

Hyacinth," he told her the day after she dropped off her choir robe at the church. He

had stopped by her house while she was finishing dinner. She'd had him join her in the dining room. He'd sat at her soon-to-be-ex-husband Alfred's place at the head of the washed wood table while the cup of tea she prepared for him steeped. "Redeemed

is the Lord's house," he said. "And there's no one and nothing you can do to ever make you unwelcome in His house as long as you come with a clean heart." He stood, holding out the robe and said, "Pray on that," in his deepest baritone. What drama

punctuated the moment was lost when his fingernail snagged his tie-an ugly purple thing with lime green clocks all over it-as he tried to hand back the robe. It was too bad the purple eyesore survived the mishap.

She promised to consider what Griffin said if he'd get rid of the tie and all its evil cousins. He had smiled and agreed. The robe was still in a dry cleaning bag at the

253 back of her closet. She noticed it now. Felt a longing to wear it again. Reached out just to touch it and the telephone rang. She picked up the extension in her bedroom when she saw that it was Reina.

"Please tell me you'll be at the morning service today, Hyacinth. I want to bring your sculpture to you," she said.

"I told you to keep it," Hyacinth said. She pictured the piece in question: a foot high stone figurine oftwo girls holding hands; sisters or close friends. She'd bought it because its simplicity moved her. It had been out of her hands a short while, but when she got it back she had sent it to Reina. Sent it because she'd owed her some money; money not borrowed, but taken from her. Stolen, you could say. She wouldn't accept the sculpture's return because her actions had marred her ability to enjoy its simple beauty. "It's yours now, Reina. Yours to keep."

"But I can't do that. You gave me the money you owed me. That was enough."

"I am not taking it back. And to answer your original question, I believe I will be at the morning service today."

"Oh, good! We'll talk about it during the social hour, then. I'll save you a seat," Reina said. Her voice was upbeat. Definitely warm.

Hyacinth hung up the phone, moved by her friend's loyalty. She didn't deserve it, though, she thought as she went back to the closet. Just like she felt unworthy of her choir robe. Unworthy period. Because she'd stolen from one friend.

Coveted another dear friend's husband. Committed adultery with him many times

254 over the past year. And of course to commit all those sins required lies without end.

Truth was she could hardly think of a commandment she hadn't broken. Which was why after weeks of thinking and praying about the matter, she had come to the same conclusion: a woman who swam in a cesspool of sin, all the while pretending God's righteousness flowed through her veins, did not deserve to go on as if her slate had been wiped clean.

Yet it had been. And that was the reason she had to go back. Of course it wasn't going to be easy. But she had the responsibility to do so. A sacred duty. It was time to pick up the threads of repentance and make the proverbial new garment of them. So, despite everything, today she would go back to the place she used to spend almost as much time as her own home: Church of the Redeemed. It was Easter

Sunday, after all, and no one in her right mind skipped Easter service. She was going; she just had to find something to wear.

In another bedroom of another house altogether, Margaret Brown was at her dressing mirror also facing a sartorial challenge. Her favorite gospel program played in the background. As First Lady of Church of the Redeemed, even in her simple frocks-as she liked to call her conservative Sunday wardrobe-she usually out dressed every other woman in the congregation. Even Frances Jones-who on Watch

Night had worn a sequined dress with a matching handbag and shoes, claiming she had a party to attend after praying in the new year-was no match for Margaret's

255 ubiquitous elegance. Today it was especially important that she look presentable since she was going to address the congregation.

Easter Sunday was usually the one occasion she always wore something brand new. A silk suit of a delicate butter, or pale peach; both colors that flattered her dark brown skin. But since Malik had her working at his CPA business three nights a week on top of her realtor and consulting duties, she hadn't had the time to splurge on a new outfit this year. It had been hard enough to find the time to get the kids the requisite Easter outfits and hairdos.

But she had managed for them. The kids looked as adorable as an advertisement in Town and Country. MJ' s navy blue pants suit was similar to his father's. His striped shirt was, too. It was of the palest lavender and matched Susan's outfit down to the hat and shoes. Susan's tea length dress, which tied in a fat satin ribbon around the waist, fell into a trillion little pleats all around. Thank God she hadn't had to iron them.

Margaret kept her ears open for the song she'd requested, but it was Sam

Cooke leading the Soul Stirrers. Not her song yet. The kids were in the family room watching a Veggie Tales tapes-she'd told them no eating or drinking, not to even move--while Malik went over his sermon in the kitchen. She rummaged through her closet again looking for something to match the rest of the family. What color would that be, she wondered as she picked up a blue blouse that had fallen to the floor.

Something gray, perhaps?

256 "You almost ready?" Malik joined her in the bedroom. He certainly looked spiffy. His navy Armani suit fit flawlessly over his toned body. His new tie, a watery mix ofblueberry and pastels matched their son's. She hoped there'd be time to snap a picture of everyone in front of the fireplace. Kill two birds with one stone since

Mama didn't believe this new house had one and would definitely expect pictures of her grandchildren in their Easter outfits.

"Not yet," she said.

Malik peeped through the closet door at her as she stepped into the skirt of her pearl gray suit. She examined how it looked in the mirror. The stretchy fabric hugged her hips, but she'd had no trouble getting it on. "Honey, does it look it too tight?"

"Looks fine. Hurry up and finish so we can get going." He handed her the jacket. She noticed the red stains on its lapels and caught herselfbefore the damn it left her lips. Why hadn't she had just one hour in the last week to find something decent to wear for Easter? So much to do. Always so much to do. It just wasn't easy being First Lady. She had to be a model of femininity and grace. Demonstrate the patience of Job, the maternity of Mary, along with the seductive charm of Delilah when necessary. And topping off the list, she had to have the energy to work outside the home, inside the home and inside the church. No, it wasn't easy being a First

Lady. And unlike the one in the White House, she didn't have a paid staff to cater to her every whim, though ifthis crazy schedule persisted, she was going to demand one.

257 Margaret was close to tears when the words, "Hold on, help is on the way,"

encouraged her from the radio. She remembered the song from The Preacher's Wife

soundtrack. Oh, He was truly an on time God. It wasn't her request, but hearing the words gave her the focus to try and solve the problem rather than lament it.

She slipped off the skirt and started re-evaluating the discarded clothes on the bed.

"Could you tum that up, Mal?''

Malik used the remote to raise the radio volume, and then picked up one of the dresses she'd already rejected. "Why not this peach one?"

"It's way too tight." He raised an eyebrow. "I haven't had time to work out, lately." She wanted him to think about why that was. She grabbed the stuff and headed back inside the closet. He followed.

"This is temporary. As soon as I can start taking a salary from the church again, we can cut back your hours. Or you can quit the firm altogether. Lord's not going to give us any more than we can bear," he added with a smile. She hoped he planned to be more inspiring than that with his sermons today. She was already frustrated about having to address the women because of all the rumors flying about.

It would be bad enough if she didn't speak well, but if Malik got too preachy and dull the collection would likely be slim.

"Why don't you wear this?" He had selected the pale pink suit she had worn last year. No one would remember whether Malik had worn the suit he had on now yesterday, but the women would surely remember she'd premiered this suit last

258 Easter. That was the reason she hadn't even considered wearing it. She tried to

explain this to him. But he just smiled and said, "So what? Wear it."

It wasn't like she had any other choices. And it would probably fit since the

fabric had a touch of spandex. She hurriedly put on the suit. Ah, His mysterious ways,

she decided as she examined the results. Not too tight, no panty lines. She found the

matching hat from last year and adjusted it over her thick curls. Then she touched up

her lipstick and slipped on her Anne Klein pumps.

Margaret was ready to face the congregation. She managed to set up the tripod

and take three posed shots before Malik had to go to the rest room. She made the

children go after he did, just in case. She had already confirmed their brunch

reservation: Malik would preach two services today; they would dine at Max's

between them. She carried a few snacks in her cavernous Coach bag to tide them

over, just in case.

They stepped out to the garage and she and Malik each fastened a child safely

onto the back bench seat. She climbed in front and had turned on the radio when she

remembered the one thing she'd almost forgotten: the remarks she had written.

"I'll be back in a minute, Mal." She scampered back inside the house.

The air was warm and sweet. The sun was shining so brightly everything looked cleaner and purer. It was as if handfuls of golden light had spent the night before scrubbing the world. The glorious weather reminded Hyacinth that Easter is not just a celebration of spiritual resurrection but also a colorful rite of spring. Almost

259 overnight, it seemed, the earth had pushed up an assortment of strikingly colorful

field flowers in an array of radiant red and pink and purple hues. She smiled to herself

as she realized the landscaper had probably paid a recent visit. But she could count on

the church to be just as colorful with stalks of creamy lilies flanking the altar and the

rainbow sherbet clothes that would adorn the women and children, many of whom

only attended services this day of the year. Fancy hats, like the ones she discarded

earlier, or proud bows fastened to newly done hair would be de rigueur today. No

matter how you felt about it, it was all as much a part of Easter as the betrayal and the

resurrection.

In her car she turned on the Sunday morning gospel program and hummed

along with the Whitney Houston song that was playing. Immediately afterwards, "No

Ways Tired" was played by special request for Margaret out in Lakes by the Sea.

Hyacinth wondered if that was Sister Margaret. She couldn't help but sing along. Had

it been almost three months since she'd sung it solo? How she missed being in the

choir! But the prospect of showing her face in church after her many missteps had

been too fearsome. So she had stayed away even after she had paid everyone in the

Sous Sous what she owed them. Because she'd still felt awful about having dipped into the money she'd been entrusted with.

But Alfred bore some responsibility for what had happened, too. He had cleaned out their joint bank accounts to which he'd rarely made deposits. Withdrawn the money in them right after she'd used every penny of her own savings to buy out his part of an investment they'd made. That was how she had messed up the Sous

260 Sous. Of course the situation might not have become so grave if she hadn't

commingled her funds with those of the group in the first place. But rightly or

wrongly, she'd run things that way for ten years without a problem-usually to the

Sous Sous' s advantage rather than her own. Accordingly, she blamed Alfred for triggering the crisis that forced her to shut down the group.

A few days before their divorce case was scheduled to be heard she and

Alfred had met for drinks at a restaurant they'd sometimes dined at in better times.

Over iced tea he'd gotten right to the point. "Ifl hadn't found out you were cheating

on me I would never have taken your money," he said. The vein at his right temple

pulsed as he spoke. "I wouldn't even be asking for anything, Hyacinth. But you hurt me and I was angry with you. Still am."

Hyacinth tapped the glass topped table with the long spoon that came with her

drink. She hadn't known Alfred was aware she'd been unfaithful, and he hadn't mentioned how he knew. But she didn't push for an explanation. Instead she focused on using the leverage Griffin had made her aware of to force Alfred's hand. "Here's where we are, Alfred. You can spend what you took from me to pay a lawyer, or you can listen to me," she said for starters. "I'm sorry that I wasn't faithful to you, but that's water under the bridge. Consider this, though: If you want to play hardball you might consider that every penny you took from me or plan to take from me is income to you. From what I understand this means your children's mothers can sue you for part of it. Get their support increased," she said. "And you know once that happens,

261 the courts will be loathe to lower it." She paused to sip her too sweet tea and was planning to continue berating him for what he did.

Alfred said, "Say what?" He rubbed his temple and Hyacinth noticed he had moved his Florida State ring to his wedding finger. "Look, this has gotten out of control," he said. "You know I never took a penny from you when we were together.

I never wanted your money. This was really my lawyer's idea. If it were up to me I would have stuck with keeping things simple so we can just get this over with. I'm ready to move on with my life."

They'd parted on better terms, their financial situation settled with him signing away his portion of the investment she'd already reimbursed him for. He'd dropped his request for spousal support, even given back some ofthe money he'd withdrawn from their joint account. Their divorce would be final any day now-and not a moment too soon. The entire matter had been personally embarrassing and potentially professionally damaging to Hyacinth. She was a financial planner. And if anyone knew the scatterbrained manner in which she had handled her own money, her client list would have been threatened. Better to have it look like it was beyond her control. So she had pretended that her accounts were frozen. Lied to people she should have trusted with the truth.

Friday had been the end of the $3000 Sous Sous cycle. Hyacinth had already given Reina and Frances what she owed them. The only person left to collect was

Brenda. By paying her in full and on time, Hyacinth had hoped to restore everyone's

262 confidence. There was something else at stake, though. She had been acquainted with

Brenda since their days at Florida Memorial College back in the 1980s, but in the last six years that Brenda had been attending Redeemed Hyacinth had come to consider her a sister-friend. She wanted to regain that tie with her.

When Brenda showed up at her house, early that morning, Hyacinth handed her the envelope containing the money. "How have you been?" she asked as Brenda walked down the hall to the living room.

"How are you?" Brenda said. "Your accounts defrosted yet?" She sat at the sofa and opened the envelope.

"That's everything I owe you," Hyacinth said, wondering if she'd imagined the coldness she heard in Brenda's tone. She remained standing while Brenda counted every bill-twenty-seven hundreds, two twenties and one ten. "My financial issues are all resolved and everyone has been paid in full."

Brenda placed the money in her purse. "You didn't really answer my question,

Hyacinth." She stood and shook her head. "Still too full of yourself to come clean."

Brenda slung her purse over her shoulder and headed towards the hallway.

Hyacinth stepped in front of her. "Would it help if I told you they never were frozen? Is that going to make you feel better, my sister? Well they weren't, but they may as well have been," Hyacinth felt her heartbeat quicken, but she looked Brenda in the eye. "I know I've done some things that were wrong. And I haven't been entirely straightforward, but I had my reasons. Can't we just leave at that?"

263 "Sure, if that's how you want to leave things. But you betrayed our trust .. .in more ways than one and I don't know what to think of you anymore," Brenda said.

Her face was somber.

Hyacinth stood blocking the entrance to the hallway, while Brenda looked at her with a tight mouth. She glanced at the framed canvas of Tim Ashkar' s

"Expressions of Joy" that hung on the wall in front of them. The five smiling women of color pictured reminded Hyacinth of better times, when her relationships with her sister-friends had not been strained. "I am sorry," she finally said. Her voice was softer this time. "For everything, Brenda. I really am." She stepped aside and watched as Brenda walked away without saying another word.

She still felt sorry, guilty, too. She had caused her friends to stop trusting her.

Driven Alfred to such a state that he had tried to take her money. His actions had just been one consequence of her adultery. Another was her ruined friendship with

Frances, whose husband, Gregory, was the man with whom she'd the affair. From the moment she learned that Frances knew, she'd felt compelled to find some way to repair the breach her missteps had triggered. That was her obligation as a friend and as a Christian. But she could think of no words or actions that could accomplish that.

Because she realized, short of turning back the clock, there were none. She still hadn't found a way around that; a fact which had made returning to Redeemed, where

Frances and Gregory worshipped every Sunday, an even more difficult prospect.

264 How had she ever talked herself into thinking nothing unpleasant would come of their affair?

Why was she still mulling it over? All of that was in the past now, right?

Things done that could not be undone, but had been forgiven. She'd been washed clean of her sins, she reminded herself as she exited the highway. She thought back to the rest of what Griffin had said that night at her house. "If you've repented whatever you did, Hyacinth, then you should know your debts are paid in full. You can sit home with the devil for company, wallowing in self-pity, or you can choose to accept

God's grace."

She had chosen to accept it. But as she drove on, she examined her worse fears: that it wasn't as easy as prayer and repentance. What did you do with the guilt and the shame that comes from sin, the misery of each beating down your spirit? How did you shed it? The best she'd been able to do so far was come to terms with the woman she hadn't known she was capable ofbeing; come to terms with the sinner in her. Upon close examination she'd realized that everything she'd done in the decade since her first divorce had been motivated by an insatiable need to prove she was still special despite the fact that she was no longer a pastor's wife. It all seemed so clear now that she had prayed over it and listened for God's response. The limelight had been as much her goal at Redeemed as it had been when she wanted to sell more Girl

Scout cookies than anyone else in her troop back in fifth grade. Sure there had been good in what she'd tried to do, but it was outweighed by her secret selfish motives.

265 She was certain now that this was the reason she had fallen into sin; the reason the

Hand had failed.

She was nearing the turn to the church. Ahead of her in traffic, on the opposite side of the road, she could see Pastor Brown's big tan Cadillac making the right tum onto the church grounds. The light she was approaching turned yellow. She could have easily made it through, but decided to slow for the red.

Kids primping and pimping before the mirror had taken over the main bathroom. The smells of sweat, perfume and hair oil lingered in this smaller powder room, but thankfully there was only one person in here. It figured that after everyone else went at the house she'd be the one who'd have to go fifteen minutes before the start of service. At least she was next.

The toilet's flush sounded tentative. Margaret hoped it didn't overflow. Last time that had happened Jillian was still cleaning the church three times a week. Even on Sundays she would touch up whatever was messy. But since her hours had been reduced whoever discovered a problem was supposed to just handle it. Margaret didn't care if this suit was last year's, it was still Tahari and she had no desire to try to unstop a stuffed toilet bowl while wearing it.

Speak of the devil; it was Jillian who had been inside the stall. "Alleluia,

Christ is risen," she greeted Margaret, who hugged her in return. "Yes, Alleluia,"

Margaret said. Now she felt guilty for thinking an oft used expression, instead of

266 rejoicing with her sister. After all, it was Easter! She went inside the bathroom. All was fine.

"I like that color on you. You should wear it more often," Jillian said.

Margaret could hear the water at the sink running,

"Thanks." She hoped Jillian wasn't being sarcastic. Then she decided no one cared about what she wore, but her. She could not have been the first pastor's wife to wear the same dress two Easters in a row. They probably did it all the time back in the day.

"Isn't it a beautiful day?" she said to Jillian as she came out of the bathroom.

Jillian said yes, finished touching up her lipstick and ceded the washbowl to

Margaret. Margaret washed her hands, checked her appearance and then they left the room together. Jillian went ahead of her to the choir dressing room. Margaret sat in the little room off of Malik's office and reread her remarks. They were sort of turning into a speech, she thought, as she jotted a few more words.

Soon the sounds of the organ prompted her to the fellowship hall where the kids were noisily finishing up their indoor Easter egg hunt-no way were these children getting grass stains on their brand new clothes. Someone had given them colorful Glad bags to put the eggs in-she'd have to find out whose idea it was and remind Malik to put a special thank you in next week's bulletin.

She smiled at MJ and Susan as Darla Jones, one of the youth leaders, led them inside the sanctuary. Most of the kids attended a special service just for children in the chapel, but hers always worshipped in the sanctuary with her. She had already

267 told Darla to take them to their usual pew; the one Janis Hollister jokingly called the

cleaning products section because this building had once been a supermarket. Janis's

daughter, Clara, another youth leader, would sit with them until she finished her

remarks.

Normally, Margaret was with the kids when the choir preceded Malik into the

church. But since she was speaking she was standing in the front row of the church

opposite the choir loft between BB-little Bobby Bannister-and Sister Fonzetta

Greene. Periodically, she glanced back to the pew where she usually sat with the kids.

MJ kept looking over at her, but both he and Susan were mercifully quiet. So far only

one person had brought their infant into the sanctuary instead of using one of the

soundproof rooms. The baby's cries could be heard between verses of"Christ the

Lord is Risen Today." About in sync with the "Alleluias." As she spotted the pew where the baby was located Margaret noticed the huge yellow bow on the girl's fat

chocolate head. She was just adorable even through her wails. Margaret smiled at the

baby, and the mother, who was similarly adorned in bright yellow. The enclosed

room at the back of the sanctuary was already full of women with babies and small

children dressed in every Easter egg color imaginable. She wondered if anyone would have to venture to the rooms down the hall from the offices yet. She almost didn't blame the woman for electing not to use them since you could only see the service there on closed circuit TV. This was one of the things Malik hoped to improve when the church reached its goals for the building fund.

268 The choir had taken their places in the loft while everyone stood singing the

opening hymn. Then Malik stepped up to the podium and announced the call to worship. In that moment punctuated by the muted sounds of hymnals being replaced in their pew holders, and programs being collected BB nudged Margaret's hand, his

palm a bit sweaty. Margaret leaned toward him as he whispered, "My Mama said even though you wore that same dress last year, you look real nice." A smile as big as

Christmas was on his face.

Margaret had to bite her tongue to keep from crying as she thanked him. His mother, Brenda, likely meant well, certainly little BB thought so, but she still felt embarrassed. Every woman in the congregation was probably going to notice she was wearing the same outfit two years running. She reminded herself that most likely, unlike many others in the congregation, at least her dress was already paid for. But that hardly worked. Why had Malik suggested she wear this one, when he practically admitted everyone was going to remember it?

Malik went back to his seat. Afterwards, the choir stood in their creamy robes and Brother Griffin, who wasn't wearing one, began playing lush plaintive notes that changed the energy in the large room. Margaret stopped worrying about her attire.

She looked over at Brother Griffin; he seemed tethered to the organ as his hands caressed ethereal music out of the keyboard.

Jillian stepped up to the front row and nodded her head in time with the music, momentarily. Then she sang, very softly: "Were you there when they crucified my

Lord?" Immediately, Margaret felt stillness sweep over the room. Jillian's soprano

269 soared over the lyrics and up to the heavens. Sure was different not having Hyacinth

sing, but the Lord provided anyway, now didn't He. Margaret quickly glanced behind her, hoping to see Hyacinth. She was almost sure she'd spotted her little blue BMW at the intersection right before she and Malik got here, but Hyacinth wasn't seated anywhere. Margaret didn't really know exactly what was going on with her, but whatever it was if He could forgive her, then certainly the rest of the congregation could. In the meantime, it was nice someone else had an opportunity to lead the choir.

You just never knew what talents people had just waiting to be tapped, she thought as her spine quivered with the song. For a long moment after Jillian stopped singing,

Margaret could still feel the vibrations. She was so mesmerized that Malik had to call her up to the podium twice.

"Praise the Lord for our magnificent choir, and that heavenly solo," she said.

"Yes, Lord," a woman shouted. It was Sister Cynthia. Margaret smiled at her.

She looked down at the words she'd prepared and grew nervous.

"I am not the speaker my husband is, but I am a woman of faith. There is a tradition in our culture that the women often lead the men when it comes to faith. We come to church in greater numbers"- she glanced around at the men accompanying their families. "Well not today, I see." Malik smiled at her. She could tell he was waiting for her to get to the point. If he'd wanted her to say something specific he should have written it out for her.

"Malik asked me to take a moment and speak directly to the women of this congregation. The women who dressed these lovely children and pressed or braided

270 their hair or just brushed out the kinks-sisters, you know the Easter drill: the process of selecting that special outfit and hats and ribbons and ties and purses and shoes to match. We must be dressed in our finest, look our best to serve Him on Easter

Sunday." She glanced over at Malik and he smiled at her again. Then he nodded vigorously. This time she read his eyes and remembered she had married a genius.

She couldn't help grinning back at him. Putting her notes aside, she looked straight ahead again.

"But this day has little to do with how we look and what we wear. Or even who we think we are. It's about something so much more important: Redemption ... "

Hyacinth could hear Sister Margaret over the P A system as she entered the church through the side door. The healing words she was speaking were for her,

Hyacinth just knew it. Sister Margaret was trying to convey that she was still welcome here at this church; that she really was redeemed despite all the awful things she had done. Tears formed in Hyacinth's eyes. It was too bad she hadn't kept that foremost in her mind an hour ago when she spotted the Brown's car. In the time since then she'd been driving around trying to work up the courage to come in early and take a seat. She'd gone down across the railroad tracks to the Starbucks and had a decafLatte and half a croissant. When she was sure service would be in progress, she had driven back, parking her car on the grass across the street since the church lot was full.

271 She searched her purse for tissue to wipe her eyes. Finding none, she followed the empty corridor to the powder room near the choir dressing room. She opened the door, glancing past the pedestal sink, and immediately noticed off white shoes under the peach colored stall. She'd turned to leave when the door suddenly swung out.

Darla Jones, striking in a pink linen dress, stepped out into the center of the room.

The dress's tapered waistline flattered her youthful figure.

"Mrs. MacGregor," she said flatly. "Good morning."

"Happy Easter, Darla," Hyacinth said, her eyes stinging, face warm with embarrassment. She motioned towards the stall. "I have to use th~"

"Did Mr. MacGregor ever get the stuff I sent him?"

"What?" Hyacinth noticed Darla's curt tone. "You sent Alfred a package?"

"Who said it was a package?" Darla said. Her Gregory-looking-lips were smug. "What did he think of the picture you sent to my father? I figured he'd-"

Her fingers spread, Hyacinth put her hand over her mouth. "Darla, I'm-"

"I don't want to miss the sermon, Mrs. MacGregor. You shouldn't either. It's going to be all about how God sent Jesus to die for sinners because he loves them so much. Me, I'm hoping it also explains how people are supposed to forgive those who try to ruin their lives." She finished at the sink, stepped around Hyacinth and left the room.

Before the bathroom door shut behind her, Hyacinth went inside the stall and put the toilet lid down. She latched the door and sat on the seat, leaning against the cool porcelain tank. There was plenty of toilet paper on the roll near the commode,

272 but she didn't take any. Just sat reflecting on Darla's remarks. Hyacinth knew exactly what picture the young woman had been talking about. It was one of her in a revealing nightgown Gregory had given her on her last birthday. Why had he left it somewhere his daughter could see it? And not warned her when he told her Frances knew, that Darla did as well. Now she knew how Alfred had found out about her affair. She wondered what other "stuff' Darla had sent to him. Of course, she deserved the young woman's scorn and then some. Still Hyacinth never thought she'd get her comeuppance from a teenager. She stared at the scarred peach door as if it was the comer of the classroom and she was dunce of the hour. And she was. All she was missing was a hat.

The plumbing was making cranky noises. She couldn't stay in here forever.

She dabbed at her eyes with a few sheets of rough toilet tissue, and then opened the stall, exited the bathroom, and walked down to the end of the hall. She stopped in front of a soundproof room designed for people with small children to watch the service via closed circuit television. It was one of the church's least used spaces since no one liked observing the service as if they were home watching it on television.

She took a deep breath and opened the door. The rectangular room was empty as she'd hoped and expected. There was a large leather sofa against the long wall opposite the television; a green silk plant on either side of it. A rack of folding chairs was flush against one of the shorter walls. Placing her purse down, Hyacinth sat at the sofa and looked up at the 27-inch monitor affixed to a comer of the ceiling. Sister

Margaret was still speaking-her suit was the same pink color as Darla's dress-and

273 the camera was panning the sanctuary. Hyacinth got a glimpse of the Jones, seated up front. Gregory was so brown it looked as if he'd been bronzed. For some reason on camera Frances looked thinner-even though her outfit was off-white. That made no sense. Frances leaned towards Gregory and Hyacinth saw him take her hand. It was nice to see her indiscretion had done no apparent damage to them. But Hyacinth knew there was such a thing as damage you couldn't see. Darla's bitterness towards her was just one measure of it. Despite everything Sister Margaret was saying, everything

Griffin had said, Hyacinth couldn't stop thinking about this invisible damage. Her grace was in place. The price for betraying her marriage and her friends had been paid. But as with a healed fracture the cartilage would always remember. She nodded at the screen, holding her head in her hands as she came to that understanding.

"Remember that He died to clean your slate and if you sully it, repent: wipe up the mess and move on," Sister Margaret was saying. "Just don't repeat the sin that led you to the lesson." Hyacinth watched her step aside, handing the microphone to

Brenda's son, BB, who was all decked out in a baby blue suit. A little white handkerchief was tucked in his breast pocket. He announced in an uncertain voice:

"Easter comes but once a year and when it comes it brings good cheer." Then he handed Margaret the microphone and practically leaped off the stage to a chorus of applause and "Amens."

While watching Sister Margaret and BB take their seats Hyacinth spotted

Reina in the second row. Looked like she had managed to save her that seat after all, which was no small feat on an Easter Sunday. Hyacinth felt choked up all over again.

274 She could go and take the place her friend had saved for her, or she could stay here alone and cut off from everything and everybody she'd been closest to for the past ten years.

She wiped her eyes with her fingers. When she looked at the screen again, the congregation had stood to sing. Darla was walking down the aisle of the sanctuary.

Hyacinth remembered that awkward moment in the rest room a few minutes ago. It was always going to be this way when she entered this church-every time she saw

Darla or Frances or Gregory, or Brenda even, she would be reminded. And so would they. The whole situation was no good; the wound was still so fresh.

Suddenly, she thought of something she could do to make it easier. She stood and was about to leave the room when the camera panned over to where Griffin sat at the organ. Something was different about him. Well he didn't have on a choir robe, for one. Instead he wore a taupe colored suit with a cream-colored shirt and tie. The tone on tone effect was nice, very striking. She was stiii contemplating this as she left the room and walked quickly down the hall, conscious of the clicking sound her heels made on the linoleum floor despite being able to hear voices singing, "For God so loved the world .... "

She exited the church the same way she'd come in: through the side door, unnoticed. The day hadn't heated up yet; the air still smelled sweet as ripening fruit.

She hurried past the sardine packed parking lot and crossed the street to the swale where she'd left her car. She opened the door and got in. Scanned the Sun Sentinel newspaper she'd picked up at Starbucks. In the special religion section an ad caught

275 her attention. There was a new non-denominational church not far from her house.

They specifically mentioned wanting visitors today. The next service began at noon.

She had time.

As she refolded the paper, she realized it was Griffin's tie that was different. It had blended with his suit. Strange how one article of dress could make such a difference in a person's appearance-almost like that hat that had been so wrong for her. Except in his case, the thing he had chosen was right. It was really a great improvement over his usual trendy choices, she thought as she started driving. She was pleased he had taken her advice and tried something different. A smile crawled out of her face.

"Yes, this is a truly a season of change," she said to herself Traffic was light as she headed west, thinking of things she could do different. Like study the word more faithfully. Wait on Him to tell her how He wanted her to serve. Follow the steps

He ordered for her instead of making her own.

She found the church easily. It was a medium-sized building shaped like an

Original Pancake House restaurant. Freshly painted white, the church had a mint green roof On the lawn in front of it there was a matching green and white sign that said, "Living Word Church." In the white space beneath the nameplate were the words: "Halleluiah, Christ is Risen!" The parking lot looked large enough to accommodate a few hundred cars. It was nearly full, but she found a space facing the stgn.

276 Hyacinth put the top of her car down and let the sun beat down on her bare head. She closed her eyes, the brightness shining through her eyelids, and clasped her hands together. "Lord when I asked your forgiveness, I asked you back into my life.

Now I'm going to ask you to lead it," she said. There was only the sound of birds chirping for a moment then she heard a vehicle approaching. She said a quick

"Amen," opened her eyes, and got out of her car-leaving the top down. The sun was still dazzling her eyes as she walked toward the church.

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